Sous Couverture
by Siancore
Summary: Based on a prompt by kendrawriter. AU Richonne DarkFic. Rick is a crime boss and Michonne is the FBI agent who was meant to bring him in. Instead, she must work with him to bring down a larger criminal network. Can she keep her attraction to Rick from getting in the way of doing her job? Thanks to yunalili at Tumblr for the name suggestion: It means undercover in French.
1. Chapter 1

_Sous Couverture_

A/N: Based on a prompt by **kendrawriter** on Tumblr. AU Richonne. _Rick is a crime boss and Michonne is the FBI agent who was meant to bring him in. Instead, she must work with him to bring down a larger criminal network. Can she keep her attraction to Rick from getting in the way of doing her job?_

Thanks to **yunalili** at Tumblr for the name suggestion: It means undercover in French.

This is an Alternating POV Dark Fic. Lots of smut and violence. You have been warned. Enjoy!

* * *

Prologue

The Grimes Family owns and operates an illegal firearms racket in King County, Georgia. It is run by the ruthless Dixie Mafia Boss, 'Daddy' Gene Grimes. Daddy Gene has been in exile for some time after a bitter war with a rival organized crime family in neighboring Woodbury. Grimes Farm is a front for the weapons business. The eldest son in the Family, Rick Grimes, used to be in law enforcement, specifically a Sheriff's Deputy; he had a falling out with his father because of his criminal activity. His younger brother, Jeff, was involved in the family business, primarily running guns to local gangs and militia groups, but Jeff got into selling drugs.

One evening, Jeff called Rick asking for help. Drug kingpin, Phillip Blake, also known as the Governor, was threatening his life. Rick found his brother at an abandoned factory in Woodbury. The Governor wanted Rick to pull strings as a law enforcement officer to get the heat off his drug business, Rick refused to help. As a result, Jeff was killed on the spot and there was an explosion at Rick's residence simultaneously: His wife and baby daughter were also killed that night. After inflicting Rick with a serious head injury that left him in a coma, The Governor escaped and went into hiding. When he had recovered, Rick took over the weapons racket and vowed to track down the man who hurt his family. This was five years ago.

Presently, Michonne Bourdain is a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch. She is a skilled undercover operative who has infiltrated the money laundering operations of the Grimes Family business, posing as an accountant. Rick Grimes is about to be indicted, when he makes a deal with the FBI: He will lead them to the notorious crime boss who is known only by the name Negan. But he has two stipulations. His first: He is given immunity from any crimes committed _after_ the deal was struck with State's Attorney, Andrea Harrison. His second: that Michonne Bourdain continues to work with him undercover.

 _Michonne's POV_

"Is it all there?" I ask as my eyes shift from the portly, balding man standing before me, to the briefcase that contains crisp, new banknotes. They are stacked atop one another; each grouping totalling two thousand dollars.

His thick fingers trail over the money briefly as the tip of his tongue pokes out from his thin lips; a glint of light present in his grey, cold eyes.

"It's all there," he replies. He peels his gaze from case only to stare at my chest again; my braless breasts are pert under the top. The flimsy blouse I am wearing feels as if it is plastered to my skin; its coarse fabric causing my nipples to stiffen. The room is small and hot, and we occupants are all perspiring; this man is clammier than the rest of us. I don't take my eyes off of him as I step forward. A small stream of sweat rolls slowly from his brow; he uses his swarthy hand to wipe it away. I swallow my disdain.

"You won't be offended if I double check?" I question.

"Not at all, darlin'," he answers, with a thick Southern accent, as he closes the case and slides it across the tabletop. I pick it up and take it to the note counter on the corner desk; the device is at least ten years old, but it still works well and is accurate. I take up a seat, open the case, and begin to remove the money. Rick Grimes sits silently at the table, directly adjacent to the man. Two other men, armed with fully-automatics, stand behind Grimes.

"Is it true what they say?" he queries.

"What do they say?" Grimes responds; I find myself glancing in their direction a brief moment.

"That you were law man, once upon a time."

Grimes clears his throat and leans forward, resting his arms on the table.

"Yeah," he drawls. "It's true."

I stack the money into the note counter and hit the start button.

"Shit," the man says while crossing his arms over his protruding belly. "How the hell you get mixed up in all o' this, then?"

"You know what? You ask a lotta damn questions," says one of the men with the guns. He takes the lit cigar from his mouth and taps his hand against his firearm. His name is Ford and he is rarely seen without army fatigues on.

"What can I say? I'm a curious sumbitch."

"Is that a fact?" asks Ford, a menacing grin on his face. "Well, let me tell you somethin' about curious sonsofbitches: They wind up dead around these parts. You catch my drift?"

The man laughs a little, not realizing how much in danger he really is. I've witnessed Ford break some other guy's jaw for accidently nudging him.

"My sincerest apologies. I mean no disrespect. I'm just tryin' to get the conversation goin' while we wait for Mr. Grimes' lovely assistant to finish up with the cash," he explains as he looks in my direction. Grimes glances at me as well, before looking back at the man whose gaze now lingers on me. "One more question, though: Where on earth did you find her?"

He drums his sweaty hands on the table and ogles me. I keep my eyes trained on the notes as I go about my business.

"That ain't your concern," Ford answers for Grimes, who raises his hand to let his henchman know he will allow the line of questioning.

"Why d'you ask?" Grimes inquires.

"She must be good to have around," he states. "Makin' sure you ain't gettin' short-changed and whatnot. Bet she knows how to suck a dick real good, too. With those lips, damn. Come on now, Grimes, she's gotta be suckin' your soul out, I mean, why else would you let a woman around your business if she wasn't…"

My nostrils flare but I keep counting and stacking while that prick keeps talking shit; in this line of work, there's always some asshole making crude remarks. Grimes gestures to Ford to step closer and holds his hand out; Ford passes the cigar to him. In a split second, the burning end of the cigar is slammed onto the top of the man's hand.

"Fuck!" he screams as he pulls it away and stands; his eyes wide with surprise, his skin burning. "What the fuck!"

The two men behind Grimes aim their weapons at the hysterical man in front of them. Grimes stands, gets them to lower their guns, and then steps around the table to his frantic customer. He gets close to him and the man freezes in place. Grimes leans in and says evenly, "Watch what you fuckin' say about her."

"Rick," I say as I close the case. "It's all here."

Grimes keeps his cold gaze on the deflated man.

"Thank you," he offers. "Abraham, get this asshole his shit and get him the fuck out of my sight."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"Abe, take the case in the car with you. Emm, ride back up to the Farm with me," I say as we all leave the dingy little cabin.

The guys nod as Abraham says, "You got it, Boss."

She hands over the case and then follows behind me; Spencer goes to get out from behind the steering wheel and open the door for me, like he always does, but I wave him off. I hold the door open for Emm and she climbs into the back seat. I go to the other side of the car and get in beside her. She smells good. She's fucking intoxicating in every single way; she keeps her eyes straight ahead. I glance sideways at her; her skirt is hiked up a little. A light sheen of sweat covers her skin; that damn top is clinging to her. I wonder if she'd tell me to stop if I reached my hand over right now and touched her between her legs?

I don't know if it's because of her seeing me hurt that prick, or the image that he invoked of her perfect lips around my cock, that's got me heated. Maybe it's both. Maybe it's because for these past eight months, I've been thinking about fucking her more and more. It's a frequent train of thought for me lately. Especially on those late nights when she stays back to go over the books for me. I visualize bending her over that desk in my Daddy's study and fucking her until she comes. Right now, I'd be content to slip my hand inside of her panties and finger fuck her until she comes. I bite my lip, wondering what she would think of me if she knew what _I_ was thinking. My dick starts to press against my jeans. She looks over at me.

"He was a real charmer," she says sarcastically of my newest customer. I snap back to reality.

"He's lucky I didn't bury him," I reply. "I don't think he'll be back again."

She smiles a little; _God_ , she's sublime.

"No," she offers. "I don't think he will."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Discreetly, I check the time on my wristwatch; it is almost ten-thirty and most of the people who work for Grimes have gone home. Those who remain at his residence to protect him and his interests are silently doing their duties at their respective parts of the property. He and I are the only ones in the large, faintly lit study. He is sitting at his desk sipping from his glass of whiskey. He's just sitting there staring at me; I stare back at him. I don't ask if I am allowed to leave. If I was, he'd tell me to go. Instead, he is sat across from me, saying nothing, and staring with those piercing blue eyes.

"You sure you don't want the transfers to go through this week?" he asks as he knits his brow. "You've more than earned it."

"It's too much at the moment," I reply. " _My_ accountant has been asking questions."

He sits up straighter in his chair.

"You need me to take care of it?" he asks; I shiver at the coldness of his tone.

"No, Rick," I say. "I'll get it under control."

He nods his head and downs the last of his drink. His eyes are on me again. The intensity of his gaze makes me want to look away; I don't. Instead, I offer him a smile.

"What was that for?" he asks, and his features soften. "That little grin just now."

"No reason," I reply.

"Emm," he urges. "Tell me."

"It's just, I noticed earlier that you've shaved," I say as he subsequently runs his hand over his chin. "And it only just occurred to me that I've never seen your face like that before."

He smiles a rare, genuine smile and his eyes light up. It startles me. I'm not used to it.

"You like it?" he asks suddenly, with something akin to hopefulness etched across his features.

I shrug, "Yeah. But then again, I liked the beard, too. Come to think of it, I like the beard better. Sorry."

He lets out a quiet little laugh and raises his eyebrows.

"Well I guess that settles it then," he says. "I'm not gonna be shavin' again for a while."

A silence falls over us and I swear this man is flirting with me. I go to speak again, just as his phone begins to ring.

"Sorry," he offers. "Hello?"

I start to search the dark, wooden walls of the room; taking in the few family photographs hanging upon them. He has mentioned before that it is his father's room where he used to conduct his illegal business. Now that notorious crime boss, 'Daddy' Gene Grimes is in exile in some nonextradition country, his son sits in his place; King of his domain.

I try inconspicuously to listen in on his phone call. From his hushed tones, I conclude it's one of his women. Probably the pretty, blonde one who is married. Or maybe the unhinged, auburn-haired beauty. Could be the young, light-skinned one. Who knows? What I do know is he'll be giving me my leave soon. He ends his call, places his phone back on the table, and gestures towards the bottle of whiskey.

"You want one more?" he asks. I shake my head.

"No, thank you," I reply, as I finish off my drink. "I should get going. Did you need anything else?"

I swear he looks disappointed, but then his expression changes and he appears stern once more.

"Nah, I'm good for now," he says before standing; I do as he does and get to my feet, picking up my purse, as he adds, "Thanks for today."

"You don't have to thank me, Rick," I answer. "It's my job."

He nods and then walks me to the door.

"See you tomorrow," Grimes says, as I step out of the room and amble down the corridor.

I turn and say, "Goodnight, Rick."

I feel his eyes following me as I make my way down the stairs. A tall, slim man opens the front door for me and I step through. As I walk to my car, another car approaches; it's the blonde, married one. She parks, gets out, and hurriedly heads for the front door. I search my bag for my keys and then glance back up at the house, feeling as if I am being watched. I see Rick Grimes standing in the window of his quarters looking down at me.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

My hands hold onto her hips as she rides my dick. I watch her tits bouncing as her mouth opens again. Her high-pitched whimpers are almost annoying as she slides her bald pussy up and down my cock. She calls my name as I thrust upwards into her. She leans backwards and grinds faster. I ease up and let her do all of the work. I'm exhausted, but I want to get off. _Fuck_ , I just want to get off. I close my eyes and let the pleasure wash over me. My breaths are shallow and quick. _God_ , I want to come and then get her out of my bed. I clench my eyes tighter and imagine that it's Emm who's fucking me. _Fuck_ she's tightening herself around my dick. I'm close now. I can picture her in all her naked glory writhing on top of me. Her perfect lips parted as she moans my name and rides me. Her juices dripping down my hard cock as she comes for me. _Fuck,_ I breathe. _Fuck._ I come and fill the condom with my seed. I try to catch my breath as she continues to ride my throbbing dick. I open my eyes and remember it's not Emm straddling me; it's someone else and I don't care if she's not finished.

"Move," I say, as I hold the base of my dick and lift her from off of me.

"Rick? No, baby, please," she begs.

"You should go now," I say as I roll the used condom from my length and drop it to the floor. "I'm takin' a shower. Don't be here when I get out."

I step into the adjoining bathroom, run the shower, and let the water drown out the sound of her sobs.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

The doorbell rings and I know it could only be one person: My handler, Glenn Rhee. I open the door to see him standing there with the pizza. I ask him to come inside while I go and get some money: This is our cover.

"They're taking down the target tomorrow at his residence," Glenn says as I search through my purse. "Pressure's coming from the top."

"It's too soon," I reply. "Besides, I have some new intel that could change things for this whole operation. How quickly can you get word to the Chief?"

"As soon as I leave from here," he answers. "But what's the intel?"

"The target's driver told me that they're in talks with the Saviors. The target's been working his way through their ranks to get a meeting with Negan."

"Negan?" asks Glenn. "Are you serious?"

"I am," I reply. "The target hasn't told me about it yet, but if there's a chance that he will get to meet with the upper echelons of the Saviors, I should be brought into the loop soon, even before the money changes hands."

"Michonne, I don't know if they can stall it, even for this," says Glenn.

"At least tell the Chief, please," I plead.

"Okay," he replies. "I will. But be ready for the take down if they go ahead with it."

"I will," I say as I hand over the money. "Thank you."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I love that fragrance she wears. It wafts around this place and makes it feel alive. I know where she is just from her scent. Something strange tugs at my chest when I see her standing in the study, staring at the photograph of me and Jeff when we were boys; him smiling widely with a fish at the end of his pole and me looking proud of him.

I get a few feet into the room before she turns to me. A small smile gracing her pretty face.

"Hi Rick," she says. "This picture is really nice. I don't know if I've told you that before."

I nod my head and offer her a weak, "Thanks."

"It's you and your brother, right?" she prods further. I don't really talk about my little brother anymore. I've bottled his memory away in that small place deep down inside of me, where I keep my wife and my daughter. It hurts too much to think of any of them. So, I don't, not really. Yet somehow, Emm has this ability to get me to open up. I can't explain it.

"Yeah," I reply as I stand next to her and glance at the old photo. "Was a long time ago."

"Which one are you?" she queries.

"The proud big brother who didn't catch a fish that day," I say as a sad smile plays on my lips.

"I'm sorry you lost him," she says suddenly, placing a comforting hand to my upper arm, before she takes a seat. All I do is nod and sit down.

"A couple of guys from Kentucky are coming up today to make a purchase," I explain. "Haven't dealt with them before, but the Dixons vouch for 'em. I know it's short notice, but can you come along with me today?"

"Of course," she says, all business.

"We're leaving in twenty minutes," I say, and she nods.

"Okay."

…..

The old abandoned barn seems like a good a place as any to conduct business. Abe and Ty stand near the cars, while Emm and I sit at the table. She stares straight ahead and doesn't say anything as we hear a car come to a halt outside. Two men get out and are patted down by my people. Ty brings them in and stays inside for the meeting.

"You didn't have too much trouble findin' this place?" I ask.

"Nah, man," the shorter of the two answers. "Google Maps is a helluva thing."

"What can I do for you today?"

"We'd like to have a look at some of your merchandise, hopefully make a purchase," the other one says.

"Hand guns, mainly. Startin' a little community watch group."

"I don't need to know your plans," I reply.

"All right, man," the shorter one says. "But you've got hand guns, right?"

That's an unnecessary question. I know what they're here for, but the fact that this guy keeps saying 'hand guns' is making me feel paranoid. I stare him down and then look to his partner. I gesture for Ty to step forward.

"Where'd you say you were from again?" I ask.

"Kentucky."

"And you came all this way to do a little shoppin'?"

"Yeah."

"I see."

"Look, are you gonna sell us the guns or not?" the taller one asks. I tilt my head to the side and then reach for my Colt, aiming it at the shorter one.

"Get on your knees," I demand, pressing my revolver against his forehead. "Ty, get Abe and check the perimeter again."

"Take it easy, man," the kneeling man pleads.

"Who are you? Feds?" I query. "Tell me."

"We're nobody," the taller one states. "We're just a couple of guys."

"Bullshit," I say, while cocking my hammer and stepping closer. Just as I am about to pull the trigger, I hear the sound of another hammer being cocked at the side of my head.

"Drop it, Grimes," says Emm firmly. "We're FBI and you're under arrest."

* * *

A/N: Next chapter is up already.


	2. Chapter 2

_Michonne's POV_

I try to ignore the perpetual ticking of the rickety overhead fan; it does little to stifle the heat in the small, musty room. I would have preferred the meeting to have occurred at the local field office, but the current situation called for a certain level of secrecy. Besides, the State's Attorney did not trust that all of the law enforcement officers involved in this case were above board. I can't say I disagree with her.

I listen as Andrea Harrison asks the question again, "Are you sure you want to go through with this, Agent Bourdain?"

I feel his eyes on me; I don't think they ever left me. I glance quickly to where he is sitting beside his sharply dressed lawyer. Half a smirk plays on his lips. I look away. Rick Grimes leans back further in his seat.

"Yes, Ms. Harrison," I reply. My voice is even. Any inkling of uncertainty is masked by my cool façade that I have honed so well over the years. "I'm sure. If this is what it will take to bring down Negan, then it's something that I am willing to do."

He actually let out a satisfied huff. My eyes dart back to meet his, steely and blue. He does not blink. I sigh.

"Okay," says my Unit Chief, Supervisory Special Agent Carol Peletier. "Then we have a deal."

"Yes, we do," Ms. Harrison replies. "Let's get the formalities out of the way, brief both Agent Bourdain and Mr. Grimes, and get back to work. I know we don't have to remind you, Mr. Grimes, that if any harm comes to Agent Bourdain, you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law."

"I understand," he offers.

"Great, let's get to it," says Ms. Harrison.

I nod my head and keep my expression unreadable. Still, I can feel his eyes on me.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The sting of the whiskey sliding down my throat does not cause me to flinch. It is almost soothing in its familiarity. I pour more of the incendiary liquid into the glass that my Daddy used to own as I recline in the large, brown leather chair that once was his. It doesn't matter what the Feds do with me after this is all over; I deserve what's coming to me after the things I've done.

My phone buzzes on top of the desk. I see her moniker flash up on the display: _M._ I can't help but smile a little; it's Michonne. Beautiful Michonne, with the pretty face and the perfect ass. Michonne, who had me fooled the whole time that I have known her. Michonne, alias Emm. Special Agent Michonne Bourdain, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

"Yes?" I say quietly, waiting for her to speak.

"I'm ten minutes away," she says. Her voice is rich and deep. It's nice.

"All right," I reply. "I'll be waiting."

She ends the call and I am left sitting in my father's weakly lit study all alone, waiting for the woman who wants to see me behind bars for a very, very long time.

 _…_ _.._

 _Michonne's POV_

He's such a smug, conceited prick. Nothing he said in our short conversation would suggest it, but it's his tone. He still has that vibe of being a cop. Arrogant, holier than thou; except he isn't an officer of the law anymore. He's the head of a crime family. He's a criminal; a murderer. And he gets under my skin. I don't ever let him know that he does. But he does.

As I come to a halt at the gates of his family's property, I let out a deep sigh, roll down my window, and speak into the intercom.

"Emm, to see Mr. Grimes."

A harsh buzzing sounds before the gate slowly opens. I drive the car through the gates and approach the large house. I take note of the security camera swivelling to follow me. Someone is most likely taking down the licence plate number of the new car that I hired under my assumed name, Emm Pearson. The name that Rick Grimes addresses me by when we are in the company of others. Now, in private, he seems to enjoy calling me Michonne.

Soon after parking my car, I am let in the house. The doorman tells me Grimes is in the dining room having his lunch. I know the way, so walk there unescorted. None of his people know about the deal we have struck. It's business as usual, as far as they are concerned. As I reach the door, I stop a moment and look at Grimes before taking a deep, albeit discreet breath.

"You hungry?" he asks without looking up from his plate.

"No, thank you," I say. "I've already eaten."

"Well, don't just stand there," he says, now looking up at me. "Come on in and pull up a chair."

I amble towards him and take a seat.

"How are you, _Michonne_?" he asks. The way my name sounds coming from him stirs something inside of me.

"I'm well," I answer. "So, what did you want to see me about?"

"You sure you don't want anything to eat? I can get Tobin to fix you somethin'," he offers.

"Grimes, I'm fine, really," I say, irritated by this little game he's playing. "Cut to the chase."

"All right, then," he sighs. "I've got a meeting with someone from the Saviors' outfit tonight. You should be there."

"What time and where?"

"Ten o'clock at the Sanctuary nightclub," he says.

"And you couldn't tell me this over the phone?" I ask.

"No," he replies. "I don't like discussing business over the phone. You know that."

I sigh loudly and bite my lip.

"I'll send a car to get you at nine-thirty," says Grimes.

…..

I check my make-up one more time and fix my hair, which is in a high ponytail. I'm wearing a white, formfitting, strapless dress that stops just above my knees. The mauve-colored high heels match my clutch. I don't have anywhere I can put my gun.

I haven't been out at night like this in so long. I feel a little anxious when I remember this isn't a date or a social gathering: It's work and it's dangerous. I check myself in the mirror once more just as the doorbell rings. Exhaling loudly, I make my way to the door. Spencer, Grimes' driver, greets me with a smile.

"Hi, Emm," he says. "Wow, you look great."

"Thanks, Spencer," I respond before he escorts me to the car. He opens the door and I get in. To my surprise, Rick Grimes is sitting in the backseat.

"Hello," he says somewhat amicably. "You look nice."

His eyes roam all over my body; he doesn't seem to care that I know he's ogling me.

"Thank you," I say. "I didn't realize you'd be picking me up."

"Best to arrive together, don't you think?"

"Sure," I reply, as I turn to look out the window. "If you say so."

He laughs, and I roll my eyes. This is going to be a long night.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

It feels like my chest is going to cave in from the thumping beats of the loud music. Bright, multi-colored lights flash in every direction; the room smells of alcohol, sweat, and sex. I glance backwards to make sure Michonne is close by as we make our way through the crowded space to a door near the back of the club. A burly looking man stands guarding the door. We approach him, and he looks down at us.

"You got a stamp?"

Michonne and I extend our hands to him and show the small stamp of a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. The large man steps aside and lets us through. I climb the stairs first, and Michonne follows behind me. The music is muffled, and the stairwell smells of cigarettes. We reach another door, where another stony-faced individual is standing. He pats us down, and waves a metal detector over us, before asking for our mobile phones. We pass them over.

"What's tonight's password?" he asks.

Michonne and I look at one another and say in unison, "Lucille."

…..

"Rick Grimes, it's nice to finally meet you," says the tall, balding man. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Likewise," I say as we take the seats that are offered to us. "This is Emm."

I place my hand on her knee; she doesn't move it away.

"My woman."

Michonne doesn't react.

"This ain't a social visit, Grimes," he says, eyeing her. "I didn't tell you to bring a date."

"She's also my accountant and one of my most trusted people," I offer, as I look over at her. She gives me a sweet smile that one would think was genuine, if they didn't know about our arrangement. The man nods his head. Michonne says nothing.

"So, it's my understanding you have a business proposition for us."

"That's right," I say. "I've heard you've got some big plans in the works and I'd like to offer you my products at a discounted rate."

"What's in it for you?" he asks.

"The money," I reply. "You know about me, about my past. How I was a cop."

"Yeah," he says. "That's what's so interesting about you approaching us."

"Well," I start. "As you can imagine, a few of my father's customers stopped purchasing from us when they found out I was takin' over. They couldn't get over the fact I was in law enforcement. Didn't wanna do business with us anymore. It's been tough to shift my products at times. I know your outfit is a large one. Hell, bigger than a lot of the others out there. I've also heard whispers about what y'all have got planned. You're gonna need a lot of hardware, and I can give you that."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I could fucking kill him right now! What is he thinking? Introducing me as his woman? I'd like to know what he's playing at. I want to knock that smirk right off his face. I remain composed, even when he starts to rub his thumb against my leg. He and this man continue their conversation. A short-haired White girl brings over bottles of vodka and cranberry juice and pours us all drinks. Grimes takes a glass from her and hands it to me; I give him a smile and thank him. He takes a glass for himself and sips, before placing his hand back on my thigh, only higher up this time. When he starts rubbing my leg, I empty the entire glass in one gulp before turning to him.

"Excuse me a minute," I say, before addressing our host. "May I use your bathroom?"

"Go for it," he replies, and points me in the direction of the toilets. I stand and Grimes' hand slides from my leg. I straighten my dress and then leave the two men. When I reach the door, I look back at Grimes and see he is watching me while he sips from his drink.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I hadn't planned on introducing Michonne as my woman. But I figure it'll keep her safe from suspicion if they think she means something to me. It would also explain why she would be at my side. She is not impressed, but she went along with it, thankfully. She's good at what she does. I could tell she wanted to kick my ass, especially when I rested my hand on her leg, to sell our little subterfuge.

She isn't gone very long. I watch her practically glide across the room. She looks amazing. Her dress is clinging to her body and accentuating every curve. I briefly wonder if she's wearing underwear. My dick twitches. She sits down next to me, and I offer her a freshly made drink, which she takes. I'm surprised yet again when she allows me to hold her hand.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

"Well, Grimes," says the man. "The final decision ain't up to me, but we'll be in touch in the next few days with an answer."

Both of them stand and shake hands.

"I hope we can do business real soon," he offers, before holding his hand out for me to take; I lock my fingers with his.

"Stick around, have a drink and enjoy yourselves," he says. "I'm Simon, by the way."

Grimes offers him thanks and we leave the room hand-in-hand. Once we get our phones back and get down to the main bar area, I let go of his hand; he then catches me by the waist and speaks closely to my ear.

"They're watchin' us," he says. "They'll _keep_ watchin' us over the next few days. Gotta keep up appearances."

He lets his hand rest on my hip as we continue to walk. Grimes calls for Spencer, and we leave together. Driving in silence a short while, Grimes turns his head and looks out the rear window.

"They've got a tail on us," he says softly, gesturing to the headlights following along behind. "You should stay at the Farm tonight."

"I don't have a change of clothes," I say.

"We can swing by your place so you can grab a few things," he responds.

"Fine."

"Good."

We remain silent for the rest of the journey.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"Take her bags up to the spare room next to mine," I say to Spencer as Michonne and I walk into my house. She doesn't protest as she follows him upstairs. Her ass looks great in that dress. I close the distance between us and catch up to her.

"You'll be okay here," I say; she doesn't reply. We reach the spare room and Spencer takes her stuff inside. I stand in the doorway. When he leaves, she shoots me an irritated look.

"We did not agree to this. What the fuck were you thinking, Grimes?" she asks.

"They won't question why you're with me all of the time this way," I answer. The truth is, I want everyone to think she's mine, even if it's not real.

She shakes her head and crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"I have to check in with my handler," says Michonne.

"Not tonight," I respond. "Just settle in and do it in the morning."

She rolls her eyes at me; I shoot her a little grin.

"See you in the mornin', darlin'," I remark.

"Fuck you," she answers.

 _I wish she would. Damn. I wish she would._

…..

It's a warm night and I'm lying in the dark. I can't seem to drift off to sleep knowing that Michonne is in the room right next to me. I keep remembering how soft her skin was under my touch. I felt like my hand was going to burst into flames. If that's how she makes me feel from rubbing her leg, imagine what other parts of her will do to me. I close my eyes and picture her in that white dress. It really didn't leave much to the imagination. Her hair up high like that showing off her neck and collarbone. I imagine what it would be like to kiss her there; to run my tongue over her skin. I feel my dick stirring in my boxer shorts. I slide my hand inside and start slowly stroking it before I take it out; it feels heavy and thick in my hand.

Next, I picture her taking the dress off to show her tits. I visualize what it would be like to lick her nipples until they grow stiff and I make her moan. My dick is starting to get harder; I pump my hand up and down my shaft. I can see her letting the dress fall to the floor as she stands in front of me completely naked. My cock is aching now. It's standing up, rigid in my grasp, all engorged and veiny. _God._ It's dripping. I stroke it harder and faster and imagine her touching her pussy while I watch. _Hmmm_ she slips two fingers between her swollen lips. She tells me how wet she is for me. _God_ , my cock is throbbing. I'm biting back a growl as I imagine her rubbing her hot little clit for me. _Aaaaah. Just like that._ I can see her licking her juices from her fingers before she plays with her pussy some more. She spreads her legs wider, so I can see her fucking herself; her slender fingers dipping in and out of her pretty pink opening. My dick is almost raw from my strokes. I imagine what it would feel like to slide it inside of her. _Fuck._ I bet she's so tight. I pump my cock harder. _Oh, fuck._ I bet she's so wet. I move my hand up and down quicker; I grip on to my length tighter. _Fuck, fuck_. I bet she'll moan and purr when I give her all of this dick. _Fuck._ I bet she'll beg me to fuck her. _Fffuckk, ohhhh, fuck._ I'm coming. I'm coming. I'm fuckin' coming. The white, stickiness shoots out in a steady stream from the tip of my red cock and drizzles down my hand; I let out a loud moan and I don't care if she hears me. I rub my dick until I milk myself dry as I try to catch my breath. _God,_ I hope she hears me.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks, everyone, for reading this story and for the faves/follows; you've been really encouraging! I love you all so much! I'm so glad you've decided to give this a chance, considering the dark nature of it.

Special thanks to those who left me reviews: **Nwfanmega; gdyoung59; semul; blueprintofyourpast; sweettayjax; Llucas0814; kendrawriter; FanAgain2; thefence; Trista 3; jerkchickenz; wereworldsurvivor; tom8947; QoDales; member00; MonaJH; supermichonnethequeen; riyaboo12; and all of the Guests.**

It's been established that Rick is attracted to Michonne; let's see if the feeling is mutual.

* * *

 _Michonne's POV_

I didn't get very much sleep last night. I couldn't stop thinking about the possibilities. Grimes actually got a meeting with one of the Saviors. We are one step closer to bringing in Negan. No one actually knows who he is, even though he is the leader of one of the most dangerous and largest criminal enterprises associated with the Dixie Mafia. With Grimes' help, it is looking like a real possibility now. Admittedly, I was also feeling uneasy about staying at his home. I know he has agreed to keep me from harm, but he is still a criminal and I have to remember that.

This job can be really lonely. It's been some time since I got to have any interaction with people outside of my operation. But I guess I'm suited to this work. I like being alone. I like being immersed in a world where I don't have to be who I really am. Michonne Bourdain. The only daughter of Doctor and Professor Bourdain. First generation American. Top of all her classes. Likes comic books and skateboarding. Is multi-lingual. Has a sweet tooth. Skilled with weapons as well as hand-to-hand combat. Special Agent, Bourdain. Lying, beguiling Michonne Bourdain. That's me, even when I forget who I am. And in those wakeful moment when I'm in bed all alone, surrounded by darkness, compartmentalizing all of _my_ darkness, I remember who I am. Sometimes I like her; sometimes she makes my skin crawl.

I guess that's one thing I really envy about former Sheriff's Deputy Rick Grimes; he is who he is, and he accepts that. Thinking back to the day I arrested him and blew my cover, he came in without any trouble. He said he knew I was just doing my job, even though I offered him no apologies or explanations. That was him being honest. For everything that he is, he is true to himself. He knows he's going away for a long time, and he has come to terms with that. He knows who, and what he is. As for me, I suppose I'm still keeping that person at arm's length. Or maybe, she and this character I've been playing are one in the same.

My morning coffee is good, thanks to Tobin. I'm sitting out in the sun on the back porch wearing jeans and a tank top. I could be any regular woman on any regular, lazy Sunday. But I'm not, and this situation is far from normal.

"Good morning, Emm," says Spencer after he rounds the corner and steps up onto the porch, drawing me from my musings.

"Hi Spencer," I greet him. He takes a seat on the decking and smiles at me. He seems like a harmless enough guy, considering the company we keep. I have never witnessed him engaging in anything as extreme as some of the other people who work for Grimes. He likes to talk; he's be a good person to turn.

"Did you settle in okay last night?" he queries.

"I did."

"I know it's none of my business, but is everything all right?" he asks. "I mean, you're staying here now, so I'm a little worried about you."

"That's sweet of you," I reply. "But everything's okay. For the time being, I need to be here closer to Mr. Grimes, that's all."

As if on cue, Grimes steps out of the back door and looks at the two of us.

"Ah, speak of the Devil," I say as he walks over to where I'm sitting; he ignores his driver and focusses on me.

"Sleep well?" he asks.

"Like a baby," I lie. Spencer stands up, ready to leave; he looks at his employer, and then at me.

"See you later, Emm," he offers, and I bid him goodbye; Grimes doesn't even throw a glance in his direction.

"What did he want?" Grimes asks looking visibly irritated.

"Nothin' much," I offer. "Just being friendly. Checking in on me."

"I don't pay him to be friendly," he says while taking up a seat.

"No, I don't suppose you do," I say. "But he got me thinking, what are we meant to tell everyone who works for you?"

"What about?"

"About our _situation,_ " I add quietly. "Spencer's a nice guy, but he's a little nosy. How do we explain me staying here?"

"So, does that mean you'll be stayin' here until this is over?" he asks, and I can't help but notice a small gleam of what looks like hope in his eyes.

"If my Chief says yes, then it makes the most sense, if you and I are meant to be involved," I say, averting my gaze a moment.

"We don't have to tell them anything," he offers after some consideration. "As far as everyone's concerned, we're sleeping with each other, but you still work for me. And now that we're _involved_ , I want you close. That should be a good enough explanation for everyone."

"Okay, but Spencer knows I'm staying in the spare room…"

"He also knows that I don't share my bed with anyone, at all, no matter who they are," he says before looking away.

I don't have a response for him, so I just nod my head and continue to drink my coffee.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

There's something that's bothering me about Spencer. He seems to be too buddy-buddy with Michonne. I know our relationship is a farce, that it's all made up, but if this guy who works for me believes that she is mine, he shouldn't be sniffing around her so much. I can't blame him, but still; he needs to know his place.

I don't know why this train of thought is taking up so much of my time. I have other things to be concerned with, not about my chauffeur hanging around my fake-girlfriend-slash-accountant. I'm trying to close this deal with the Saviors, I don't have time to be worried about some other man trying to fuck Michonne.

"Grimes?"

"Yeah?"

Here is the woman in question, standing at my bedroom door.

"Can we talk about something else quickly?" she asks.

"What is it?"

She steps into my room and then closes the door behind her before approaching me. My body goes warm for a minute as memories from my fantasy the night before come rushing back to me.

"Since you're the only one who knows I'm undercover, do I still have to keep doing your books?" she asks, with an adorable smirk and I genuinely laugh, which causes her to laugh.

"I don't know," I answer sincerely, placing my hands on my hips. "I didn't really give it any thought."

"Well, since you're not paying me anymore," she teases. "I don't think I should."

"Hold up," I say playfully. "When I _was_ payin' you, you didn't really get to keep the money, so what's the difference now."

"The difference now is that you're the only one who knows who I really am, Rick," she replies with a smile. "I'm still fakin' it with everyone else."

I stay quiet for a small while.

"You haven't _really_ called me Rick since you arrested me," I point out, and she gives me coy look.

"Yeah," she answers. "I guess I haven't."

We stand in the middle of my bedroom holding each other's gaze before a knocking breaks our seeming trance.

"Come in," I call out, and Abe opens the door.

"Sorry, Boss," he offers. "Phone call for you. How ya doin', Emm? Settlin' in all right?"

"I'm doing good, Abe," she replies. "And it's gonna take a little getting used to, but I'll be fine."

"Hey," I say to her. "I'll see you later at lunch?"

"Yes," she says with a smile. "See you then."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I check my watch just as the house phone rings loudly. I dash over and answer it. Ty is on the other end of the line.

"Emm?"

"Yeah?"

"Hey, do you know if the Boss ordered a pizza 'cause there's a delivery guy here at the gate?"

"Oh, that's for me," I offer in response. "Can you please send him up to the guest house? It'll give Tobin a break from cooking for Rick today."

"I can pay for it and bring it up for you if you like."

"Oh, no," I answer. "That's okay. Just send him up. Rick's okay with it."

"You sure 'bout that?"

"Positive," I answer. "Please, send him on up."

"All right, then," Ty replies as I hang up and then make my way to the small guest house out behind the main house.

In no time, Glenn is standing before me as I pretend to be having trouble finding the correct change in my purse.

"Hey, is this safe to talk here?" he asks.

"I did a sweep for bugs and surveillance gear this morning before doing some Pilates in here," I explain.

"Great," he says, shaking his head amusedly. "So, next question: You're living here now?"

"Grimes told the Savior contact that we were together, as in a couple, and they've been tailing us to make sure everything is Kosher."

"Why did he go and do that?"

"Explains why I'd be around him a lot," I offer.

"Okay," Glenn replies. "That makes sense."

"Tell the Chief I'm fine," I say while I keep rummaging through the bag just as Grimes walks in.

"What's goin' on?" he asks, looking at Glenn and then at me.

"I ordered us pizza, babe," I say quickly. "Just trying to find the correct change for the nice young man."

Grimes sighs in an exasperated manner and then reaches into his pocket; he pulls out a roll of one hundred-dollar bills, and hands one to Glenn.

"Here," he says. "Keep the change."

"Thanks, man," says Glenn as he heads for the door. "Enjoy your meal."

"I have a live-in chef," says Grimes as he approaches me.

"I thought this would be nice," I answer.

"I don't like people I don't know coming up to the house, Michonne. Who even let the pizza boy in?"

"It doesn't matter, I told them it was for you."

Grimes pinches the bridge of his nose. I open the pizza box and give him my most charming smile.

"Come on," I say. "We can share this in peace and quiet, just the two of us."

He rolls his eyes and then concedes defeat as he takes a seat at the table. I grab two plates and serve him up a couple of slices; I pop the top off of a beer bottle for him, and then sit down across from him. We begin to eat in silence until he looks over at me.

"You're really eatin' the pizza with a knife and fork?" he asks, seemingly amused by me.

"Yeah, why? What's wrong with that?"

"It's mighty prissy of ya," he teases, his accent thick, causing me to smile.

"Well, how do you like to eat it, Cave Man?" I bite back, and he grins.

"Nothin' wrong with a little mess. I don't mind gettin' my hands dirty," he supplies, and my face grows warm. "You should try it sometime."

"Maybe I will," I reply.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I listen carefully as my people relay information to me about incoming shipments and I genuinely feel bad for them. In the past five or so years, I've trusted them with my life and my business. They've remained loyal to my family's name, even after my father was forced to leave. I've lived beside them, and bled beside them; I can honestly call them my friends. When all of this is over, some of them will go down with me, and they'll deserve it, too, just like I do.

"Boss, we'll have to review our security protocols," says Ty, as he gives his report. "Since Emm is stayin' here now, I need to know what type of clearance she'll need."

"She can come and go as she pleases," I explain. "And she should have unrestricted access at the main gate and a set of keys to the main house. The guest house is hers to use as she wants to. No one else is to go in there."

"All right," replies Ty. "That's doable. And what about her havin' friends over? Can they come as they like?"

"No," I state clearly. "Any visitors she has have to be cleared by me first."

"Okay," he nods while taking notes. "What about deliveries?"

"She likes pizza," I say. "So, if she wants it, she'll get it. Delivery men can come up to the house, but they need to be escorted. I found some kid out here today on his own. That can't happen again."

"Yes, Boss," Ty agrees. "It won't."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

It's been two days. Two. Whole. Days. And I have been stuck at the Grimes Farm. My only salvation is coffee from Tobin and hanging out with Spencer. My fake-boyfriend-slash-boss has been busy, and I've been left to twiddle my thumbs. Hell, I even did some accounting for him to pass some of the time!

Now, I watch Rick Grimes as he descends the stairs with his entourage surrounding him. His expression is serious; his eyes, calculating. His Colt is fixed in his holster. I step forward and he comes to me.

"Where are you going?" I ask softly.

"There's a problem with one of the shipments," he explains. "I gotta take care of it."

He starts walking again, and I follow along behind him.

"I'm coming, too," I proclaim; he stops and then sighs.

"Michonne," he says quietly so that no one else can hear. "I don't think you really wanna be there for what's about to happen."

"It beats sitting around here all day," I state. He considers what I'm saying for a moment, and then concedes.

"Fine," he offers. "But you've been warned."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The heat feels almost unbearable today. The top of my shirt isn't buttoned, and the sleeves are rolled up; I silently reprimand myself for not wearing a t-shirt instead. This old empty house is stuffy and dusty. I scan the room and notice that Ty, Abe, and Michonne are all wearing tank tops; the young man sitting on the chair in front of me, and I, are the only ones wearing more clothing than is necessary in the Georgian heat.

"Two crates at a time have gone missing," Abe points out. "And if it only happened once, that'd be understandable. But this shit right here is happening too damn often. Now you gon' tell my Boss here what's really goin' on, or do I have to fuck you up?"

"Look, man, it happens, okay?" the young man, Gareth, says. "Getting them through our borders isn't easy."

"We know that, dipshit," says Abe. "But my Boss is payin' you some good goddamn money, and don't you think he should be gettin' what he pays for?"

"You need stronger protection for when we shift this shit."

"You're the motherfuckin' protection, asshole," Abe chides. "Or did you forget?"

I raise my hand slightly, and Abe backs off.

"Gareth," I say, as I step closer to him. "This is unacceptable. You know that, right?"

"I know that, Mr. Grimes, but…"

I raise my hand again, signalling him to stop speaking.

"Don't do that," I say, feeling the ire rise from the pit of my stomach; my voice is steady. "Don't make excuses. Own up to your mistakes. Stand by the decisions you've made."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be fuckin' sorry," I spit, feeling all of my composure crumble away; I withdraw my Colt from its holster. It feels weighty. "Tell me what happened. No excuses. Be a man and own your fuckin' actions!"

"All right, okay," he says with worry in his eyes. "We were robbed. They caught us slipping and took two crates."

I exhale loudly; he's lying. I know he is. I take my revolver and put it back into its holder. I step closer to Gareth and then, in a split second, I'm on him. Grabbing hold of his shirt, I land my punches to his face. He lets out a sound that a kicked dog would make, and I keep pummelling him. Each time my knuckles slam into his face, blood covers them; he doesn't fight back. He'd be stupid to. Instead, he lets me decimate him. When I'm done, I throw him to the floor and shake my hand to get some feeling back in it.

I look to Abe and say, "Get him cleaned up. He still owes me money."

I instinctively look over at Michonne. Her eyes do not betray her; if she was feeling anything by what she had just witnessed me do, she showed no sign.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I don't look away as Grimes beats the shit out of that young guy who works for him. My heart is racing a hundred miles an hour and I wish I was anywhere else but in this suffocating room with these violence, cruel men. But, to be completely honest, my heart isn't threatening to leap from my chest because I am scared for Gareth or for my own safety, it's because of the change in Rick Grimes. That animalistic, primal rage that washes over him. One minute he was calm, the next, he almost killed a man with his bare hands. It's as if an electricity is radiating from his slight frame. I can't see his eyes, but I know they're changing to that darker hue; where they get so clear that his pupils are set strikingly against their blue backdrops.

Once he is done, he looks in my direction. I hold his gaze as it pierces me to my very core. I do well to calm my breathing; to hide the mixture of emotions that are swirling around inside of me right now. I straighten my back and shift my weight from one leg to the other. Grimes continues to stare at me as he walks past me to exit the dwelling; my breath hitches a little and I think he notices. Then I feel the persistent throbbing from between my legs intensify. And just like that, I know I've drenched my panties as my arousal threatens to run down my legs.

…..

The journey back to Grimes Farm is quiet. I'm thankful for the AC in the car. My skin is flushed hot and my pussy won't stop pulsating. He's sitting too close to me. I can smell him. I can feel the heat coming from his body. I want to face him. I want straddle him right now; let him rip my panties off of me and do whatever he wants to me. I shift in the seat as my clit starts aching. He has no idea what he's doing to me; how badly I want to fuck him. I shouldn't want him. My eyes find their way to his crotch and swear I can see the shape of his dick; I swear he's hard. Maybe it's just wishful thinking. I want to reach over and rub him through his jeans. Take his dick out and suck it between my lips. I don't know what's wetter: My salivating mouth or my dripping pussy. Both yearning to be filled by Rick Grimes' cock.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks, everyone! These reviews are giving me so much life right now. Everyone is cursing and sweating LOL I love it :)

Shout out to those who've left reviews: riyaboo12; sweettayjax; MannaRN; member00; Trista 3; Lovelyshmi; Guestv; TheOtherPen; harbingeraz; RBGzMom; DramionEverlarkPeetatoRichonne; ; . ; wereworldsurvivor; minton131; Nwfanmega; jerkchickenz; blueprintofyourpast; fithola; tom8947; idontsleep22; Thomi no nose; JunkyardCat; fithola; Cleo; gdyoung59; Tigerwalk; La Phoenix; klockedin; grimes1970; thefence; rumark24; Richonne4Life; stronglikemusic; Sophiasown; comewithnattah; and all of the wonderful Guest reviewers!

To answera couple of questions for **member00** :

Glenn is Michonne's handler which means he is her link to the outside world and to her superiors. He has to remain covert, and secret from Rick, to ultimately protect Michonne. He's not there to bring in the bad guys; he's there for his UC operative.

Rick hasn't been arraigned yet. The time he spends behind bars depends on the outcome of the operation since he's made a deal with the State's Attorney. HOWEVER, Rick will be indicted on charges under the RICO Act, which means he can (and will) be tried for offences that he ordered other people to do i.e. murdering someone. For example, if he told Abe to kill someone, he can be tried for that murder under RICO, even if he didn't pull the trigger himself. He knows this. Michonne knows this. He can be charged with **20 years per offence** under RICO. Michonne was sent UC because of the arms-trafficking, money laundering, and murders. He can be sentenced to 20 years for each sale he has made, and each hit he has ordered, and every time his illegal funds were laundered, hence the reason he asked to be immune to offences committed _after_ the deal was made. He has no illusions about what he has done; he knows he's going away for a long time. This could be his last chance to get revenge on those who have wronged him, this is why he is being cooperative with the FBI.

I hope this makes sense!

This chappie is dedicated to beautiful and talented Kendra.

Okay, let's check in.

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

The ride back to the farm is quiet, and I am so fuckin' pleased when we pass through the gates of my family's property.

"Pull up 'round the back," I tell Spencer; he does as he is told. I let out a loud sigh, and glance at Michonne; I catch her staring at me and she averts her eyes hurriedly. A smirk plays on my dry lips. We open our respective doors at the same time. She climbs out first; I stare at her ass.

I don't say anything as I walk through the backdoor and make my way towards the kitchen; I can hear her footfalls behind me as I go and get an ice-cold beer from the fridge. After popping the top, I take a seat at the long counter; the cool liquid slides down my throat. She stands in front of me.

"Here," she says. "Let me see."

I hold my hand out to her; now that the adrenaline has coursed through me, I can feel it aching. She takes hold of it gently, before letting out a sigh of her own.

"God, Grimes," she says with a somewhat concerned expression on her face. "You really busted your shit."

I shrug and sip my beer as she walks to the sink. She picks up a clean cloth and runs it under the faucet, before returning to where I am. She takes a seat on the stool beside me and holds my hand in hers once more. It stings when she places the wet cloth to my torn knuckles, but I don't react. She cleans away the blood carefully while I stare at her face.

Even when she is concentrating hard, she is still very beautiful. Her long lashes almost touch the tops of her cheeks; her full lips twitching ever so slightly.

"Why are you doin' this?" The question slips from my mouth without much thought.

"You have to clean the wound," she supplies. "Basic first aid, Grimes."

"That's not what I mean," I say. "Why did you agree to work this case?"

"I was assigned to it."

"No," I say, to clarify further. " _Now_. Why'd you agree to work with me _now_?"

She looks up from what she is doing, briefly; there's a look of determination to her stare. She draws her gaze from mine, and continues cleaning my cuts.

"I want to put a bad man way for a long time," she proffers; a jolt of pain strikes my knuckles, I flinch, but recover quickly; if she notices, she makes no mention of it.

"Me, or Negan?" I ask curiously.

"What does it matter?" she responds.

"I don't suppose it does in the end," I say as she finishes up.

"You'll need a bandage on this," she offers, letting go of my hand slowly; I miss her touch immediately.

"Thank you," I say, more softly than I mean to. She gives me a weak smile, a nod of her head, and then walks away.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Grimes has unnerved me again.

 _Why exactly am I doing this?_ I ask myself. It isn't for the status or the promotion. It isn't because I want a place in the Bureau's Hall of Fame. It isn't even about catching all of the bad guys, not really. I've worked so many undercover operations, and there was always bad people. Even the ones who _thought_ they were doing good. I'm probably not even a good person, I can admit that. I stood there and watched Rick Grimes beat the shit out of that guy. And that isn't even the first time I've witnessed something like that. For the past eight months, I have been by his side while he's done some deplorable things. And every time I see him hurt someone, it makes it easier for me to stomach it the next time he does.

I guess I recognize that darkness inside of him when I look at myself; there's _something else_ there. It takes a special kind of emotionally-crippled fuck to do what I do, to tolerate what I am willing to tolerate. And for what? To get a break in a case? To take someone down? I am tired. I am so tired of feeling like I belong with these people. Maybe I do. Maybe Grimes sees that there is something else about me, too, that's why he wants me around.

I go to my quarters and lock the door. I take off my shoes, and slip into a pair of shorts and a tank. My panties are still damp from my reckless thoughts of Grimes before; the heat subsided when I took care of his wounded hand, but it's still here. Somehow, I wanted that quiet moment alone with him. I've known him for months now, but still don't really _know_ him. Maybe that's where the answer to why I am here lies: _I want to know Rick Grimes._

I shake my head, forcing the image of him from my mind; I go to my bag and retrieve my iPad. I recline on my bed while keying in my code. I bring up Grimes' file. I search back as far as I can to when he was a decorated Sheriff's Deputy. I click on one of the JPEGs; a picture of him, his wife, and baby daughter covers my screen. They were beautiful. He looks so happy. There's a sparkle in his eyes that isn't there anymore. Next, I open the file about the night his family died. I've read it before; I know who he was. Nothing in there is going to help me understand him now. I close that chapter on his life, much like he has already done.

Next, I find the file dated eight months ago: The first lot of intel I gathered upon meeting Rick Grimes. I remember it like it was yesterday:

 _We were lucky to catch this break; lucky that Phil Wheeldon wanted out of the game. The old, overweight man had kept the books for 'Daddy' Gene Grimes for almost three decades. He was ill. The Bureau was on to him. He wanted to live out the remainder of his years free, to spend with his children and grandchildren. A deal was struck and slowly, but surely, a plan was put into place._

 _The first time I laid eyes on Rick Grimes in the flesh was at King County Diner. I sat with Wheeldon and shared a hot beverage; we were there for the better part of an hour, going over how we'd known one another. I was the daughter of one of his long-time associates. I understood the disreputable business they were in, and followed the rules that governed them. I was in town getting away after a particularly bad break-up. We had been in contact and he offered me some work. That was our cover story. I had already been in King County working for Wheeldon for a little over a month before I even met Grimes; Wheeldon was advised to mention me on occasion in the lead up to our first interaction with the man who paid him handsomely. The meeting at the Diner was set up to look like it was by chance; surveillance told us that Grimes frequented the eatery every Tuesday morning. When he walked through the door, I pretended not to notice him; he, however, noticed me right away._

 _"Mr. Wheeldon," he said, standing beside the older man. "It's good to see you."_

 _"Hi, there, Rick," said Wheeldon amicably. "How are you, son?"_

 _"I'm doin' good," he smiled, before turning his attention to me._

 _"Where are my manners?" asked Wheeldon. "Rick, this is Emm Pearson.I might have mentioned her before. Me and her daddy go way back. She's been workin' with me for a little while now."_

 _Our eyes locked. I couldn't look away; I felt drawn to him._

 _"Emm, darlin', this here's Rick Grimes."_

 _He extended his hand to me and I took it; his grip was firm. We exchanged greetings._

 _"She's been a blessing to me; got a real eye for detail," Wheeldon added. "Did you wanna join us?"_

 _"Sure," Grimes replied, to both our surprise. "I'll tell Spencer to come back and get me a little later."_

 _By the end of the meeting, Grimes had given me his business card and told me to call if I needed anything at all. A week later, I was helping Wheeldon reconcile his legitimate accounts. A month after that, I was shown the illegal dealings._

I sigh as I close the file and think back to how worried I had been. Not about my cover story, no; we have the best analysts around and the background they build for UC operatives is nothing short of amazing. I had passed all of the background checks that they gave. But I was worried because there was something about Rick Grimes and the way that he looked at me. Like his eyes were penetrating my soul and there was nothing I could hide from him. I was worried he'd figure me out; the _real_ me.

I'm actually quite relieved now that my cover is blown. The worry about Grimes discovering me is gone. Now, I find myself increasingly obsessed with wanting to discover _him_. I open another JPEG; it's a picture of him taken by one of the surveillance units. His beard is neatly trimmed, and his expression demanding. I zoom in on his eyes, then his lips. There's no denying it, he's so fucking sexy.

The arousal I felt before returns. That small pulsing between my thighs. I exhale loudly, roll to my stomach and place the device down on the bed. I rub my nipples through my tank top. It's been so long since I've had sex, and being in close proximity to Grimes reminds me of that fact. Sometimes, when he looks at me, I swear he's thinking about the two of us fucking; I know I've thought about it enough times. My frustration gives way to desire in a heartbeat. Before I can stop myself, I'm slipping my shorts off. I grab a pillow and place it down underneath my lower half, and then I am straddling it. While staring at the picture of Rick Grimes, I roll my hips and grind my pussy against the pillow. The friction relieves the steady aching of my clit. My breathing grows heavier as I grind faster, imagining that I am on top of him. I bring my hands up under my top and fondle my nipples; I close my eyes and picture him: Intense blue eyes; full, pink lips; a mess of brown curls; greying beard; surprisingly beautiful hands; slight body; and bowlegged gait. _God, he looks like he can fuck_. The heat builds and swirls through my core; I fall forward and roll my hips quicker while I lean on my forearms. Now, I'm staring at his face on my screen while wishing he was in the room with me, helping me to quell this fire that he has ignited in between my thighs. Frantically, I pull my soaked panties to the side so that my aching, dripping pussy is in direct contact with the fabric of the pillow. I exhale a long drawn out moan as I reach my climax; I bite into my arm to stifle my pleasured little cries.

 _I do want to know Rick Grimes; every single inch of him._


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Still with me? Okay. This take place on the evening of same day Michonne was turned on by Rick's brutality.

* * *

 _Michonne's POV_

The soft glow from the small, elegant lamp creates a sense of serenity in my quarters. I finish wrapping my hair into my silk scarf just as there's a knocking at my door. No one ever bothers me here, so I know it's him. I let out a sigh, check my reflection in the mirror, and then call out, "It's open."

The doorknob turns, and he pushes the door open; he peers into the room. I wonder if he can smell the faint scent of my arousal from earlier. I removed the drenched pillowcase and placed it in the hamper with my discarded clothing. I took a shower before we dined; I pleasured myself under the cool stream of the water. I feel slightly guilty now, as the man I pictured fucking me while I fingered myself is currently in my presence.

"Sorry to bother you," he says softly.

"It's fine," I answer. "What did you need?"

"May I come in?" he queries, ever the Southern gentleman, despite all of his faults.

"Sure," I reply; he steps inside and closes the door behind himself. I feel his eyes all over my bare skin. He takes a moment to speak.

"I just got word that the next meeting with the Saviors has been set up for tomorrow," he explains.

"That's good," I reply. "Where? When?"

"One of their secret outposts," says Grimes, before adding: "May I sit?"

I nod my head and gesture towards the bed. He has to smell me.

"So, when do we leave?" I query, anxious to get it over and done with.

" _We_ don't leave, 'cause it's only me goin' this time," he offers.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It's the only way it'll happen," he says. "I might get to meet Negan this time; or it could just be another one of his people. Who knows? But I gotta go through with it."

I'm sitting in silence, playing the scenarios over in my head.

"Do you think they know about our arrangement?" I ask, seriously concerned.

"No," he answers quickly. "If they did, they'd hit us hard. They wouldn't waste their time with secret meetings. The trash man would find us in the streets with no faces if they had _any_ idea what we're doin'. I'm certain they've got no clue."

"Okay, I don't know if I feel less worried now, but if you're sure…"

"I am," he interjects.

"Good," I reply. "How will I know where you are?"

"You won't," he says. "They'll send coordinates to a burner phone and I'll go from there."

"Shit, Rick. I dunno about this," I say, and catch the beginnings of a smile forming on his lips.

"Hey," he says, leaning forward slightly. "This is a good thing, Michonne. They wouldn't go to all of this trouble if they just wanted to waste me."

I exhale loudly and nod my head. "Okay."

He is standing now, still holding my gaze. "It's gonna be fine. Goodnight, Michonne."

I offer him a weak smile, "Goodnight, Grimes."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The coordinates lead me to an abandoned abattoir a few miles out of town. I was given instructions to wait there for someone to come; there's a walkie on a chair in the kill room. I've been here for three hours now. The sun will be setting soon. The room is quite eerie. There's an odd smell like old, dried blood. A voice comes through the walkie.

"Listen up, prick," a woman's voice orders. "Tell me all about the business you're in."

 _….._

It's been a long day. I'm tired. I just want to go to sleep. I step inside of my family's home and then I hear it. The sweetest sound I've heard in ages: Michonne's laughter, wafting through the house. I follow the sound, like she has a spell on me, and find her in the TV room. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, and she is sitting with her legs crossed on the couch; Spencer is there with her. He says something else and she laughs uproariously again.

My heart feels heavy and sunken, where it was just a moment ago, beating faster at the sweet serenade of her giggles. A throbbing in my temple sets in; my head hurts. Why doesn't she ever laugh like that with me? Why would she? I never give her any reason to. I'm standing there and watching them: Her entire face lights up when she smiles. Her big, beautiful brown eyes glow and I am sure I have never seen anything so exquisite in my life. That's when the realization hits me; in amongst all of the rage and pain and the blood and the fear, Michonne is the only _good_ thing in my life. She is the only decent person I know, and I don't deserve her smiles and her laughs. I don't deserve her. I start to walk away.

"Rick," she calls when she notices me. "How'd it go?"

I stop, but only for a second, before I continue up to my bedroom.

"I'll brief you tomorrow," is all I say. I take out my phone and type in a text message that reads: _Come over now._

 _….._

 _Michonne's POV_

Grimes seems sullen, but I am glad he's back. I was starting to get worried. I figure he'll fill me in tomorrow. I decide to call it a night, too, and tell my companion as much. I turn the TV off as Spencer is getting ready to leave for the night. As I'm gathering up the bowls, there's a crackling sound of the doorman's walkie-talkie. A moment later, he is letting the blonde, married woman in. She shoots Spencer and I a quick glance, and then hurries up the stairs. Spencer gives me an apologetic look.

"The Boss is an asshole," he says. "Sorry, Emm. You deserve better."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I'm half naked and nursing my whiskey when she walks in; she's wasting no time in removing the rest of my clothing. She drops to her knees and yanks my jeans and boxers down; my dick springs forward a bit; I'm not completely hard. She tugs it a few times and then slurps it into her mouth. I place my hand at the back of her head as my dick stiffens from her attention.

 _….._

 _Michonne's_ _POV_

I don't exactly know why I'm pissed off at Grimes. It's not like I haven't been here working late when one of his little fuck buddies comes by. I guess I was thinking that after the important meeting he was at all day, the meeting that concerned the both of us, he'd at least want to talk to me about it. I am wrong. He wants to get his dick wet. I let out a sigh and climb the stairs. After brushing my teeth and wrapping my hair, I pull the covers back and turn off the lights. Then I hear them: The high-pitched moaning and the bed tapping against the wall.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The room is dark and I'm kneeling behind her. Her ass is facing upwards, and her face is on the bed. I drive my dick into her hard and fast. She lets out those too-loud moans, but I don't care. I just want to fuck someone hard and get off. I want to work all of my frustrations out. She tries to lean back into my cock, but I push her down into the mattress and continue my thrusts. I can't even picture Michonne right now to help me come. All I see is her smiling for Spencer. _Fuck._ I grab a handful of hair and ram into her roughly as I grunt like some wild animal. I'm fucking her so hard that the head of the bed is banging against the wall. Michonne has to hear us; we're loud. I feel guilty. Michonne doesn't deserve this. I try to keep plunging my cock into this other woman, but it's no use. I can't see release coming for me. I stop my movements, and withdraw my condom-clad length. I'm almost flaccid.

"Rick?" she asks. "Baby, what's wrong."

I crawl off of the bed and turn on the lights.

"I'm sorry," I say as I start to dress. "You should go."

"But, Rick…"

"Please," I plead. "Just go. And don't come back anymore."

 _….._

It's early morning and I find Michonne in the guest house eating breakfast. She's dressed in workout gear; her hair is pulled away from her face. She does not lift her head when I enter the room.

"Can we talk?" I question her; she stares at her bowl of cereal.

"Yeah," is her short answer.

"About last night…"

"You do _not_ have to explain anything to me, Grimes," she says. "This is your house, you can screw whomever you want."

"Michonne…"

"We're not really an item," she says, finally looking up at me. "I'm undercover, remember?"

"You gonna let me talk?"

"Go ahead," she concedes.

"I'm sorry…"

"No need to be…"

"Damn it, Michonne!" I say, frustrated. "Let me say what I have to say."

She sighs, but lets me continue.

"I was insensitive, inconsiderate, and disrespectful to you last night," I explain. "You're a guest here, and my actions must've made you uncomfortable. For that, I am sorry."

"I accept your apology," she says, before returning her attention to her cereal.

"And I'm sorry that my actions disrespected you as my _significant_ other…"

"We're not really together, Rick."

"But they all _think_ we are," I offer. "I can't have them thinkin' I'm screwin' around on you, even if it _is_ all fake. That's not right."

She looks up at me again. I want her to know that I'm sincere, so I add, "It won't happen again, I promise."

She nods her head and then I turn to leave.

"Hey," she calls to me. "Are you gonna tell me about the meeting?"

"Oh," I reply as I stop in my tracks. "We've got a deal. They'll contact me soon with the details."

 _Michonne's POV_

There's a surprisingly cool breeze that's crept up outside, so I take my coffee and sit on the back porch. It's still crazy to me that this is a running farm, despite the cache of military grade firearms hidden away in numerous bunkers. Those who tend to the cows for Grimes may or may not be aware of what's really going on, but on a nice summer evening like this, it's easy to forget even when you do know.

I smile as Spencer approaches me. He steps up on the porch and sits beside me.

"How are you?" he asks.

"I'm good," I answer. "It's nice out here. Just clearing my head."

"Everything all right with you and the Boss?" he pries; I consider my answer, and go with the truth.

"Yeah," I say. "He apologized and promised it won't happen again."

"And you believe him?"

I contemplate the question for a moment.

"Yeah," I nod. "There was something in his eyes when he said it; I could tell he meant what he was saying."

It dawns on me then that I really did see sincerity and regret in him this morning.

"All right," Spencer says, looking disappointed and deflated. "As long as you know what you're doing."

"I do," I say with a smile; Spencer smiles back at me.

"Hey," he says. "I got you these."

He hands over two Big Cat bars and my eyes light up.

"Thank you so much!" I coo while taking the candy from him. "You're the best."

He gives me a coy grin but then his body language changes as he stares past me. I don't need to turn to know Grimes is approaching behind me: I can hear his boots on the wooden decking.

"See you later, Emm," says Spencer as he stands to leave.

"Bye, Spence," I offer.

Grimes takes the seat that is vacated.

" _Spence_?" he teases.

"What?" I ask, scrunching my face up at him.

"Is that the type of guys you're into?" he asks, referring to Spencer, while leaning back in the chair.

"What type of a man do you _think_ he is?" I question.

"A follower; a sheep," he replies. "Hardly a man."

"Why? Because he's sweet?"

"No," says Grimes. "We all have our moments. I can be as sweet as he is."

"You? Sweet?" I ask with a laugh.

"Try me…"

I scoff, and he continues, "But back to him, he's a coward."

"Why do you keep him around, then?"

"Because I owe his mother…and I _know_ what he is," says Grimes. "I can always trust Spencer to be Spencer."

"So," I test. "You're not a coward?" He catches my gaze and leans forward, closer to me.

"No," he answers, as he takes one of my locs between his fingers and twirls it around a little. "And you know that because neither are you."

My heart rate speeds up as he lets the hair fall from his fingers back into place.

"Well, what am I?" I ask, a little afraid of his answer.

"That's what I'm tryin' to figure out," he replies earnestly as his eyes narrow. "I do know this: You can do better than some loose-lipped, chicken-shit, pretty-boy type who takes orders from bad men like me."

"Is that right?" I ask, biting my bottom lip.

"Yeah," says Grimes. "It is."

We remain locked in a staring contest before I cannot take his fiery intensity anymore.

"Here," I say as I toss one of the candy bars on the table. "This might help to sweeten you up."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: As always, thanks for reading/reviewing and for the faves/follows. I get such a kick out of your feedback *places my hand over my heart* it keeps me going.

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

I slept through the entire night this time; but the nightmares were still there. That was half of the problem: If I wake up because of the bad dreams, I end up being tired all day. If I don't wake up, I've got to endure the constant torment dousing my reverie. Either way, my head still hurts; every inch of my being hurts.

I roll out of bed and squint because of the unforgiving light. I've overslept, which is not unusual when my slumber is riddled with screams of the people I have loved; the people I have lost. I run my fingers through my hair and then I hear a quick knocking at my door; the time is eight-thirty. No one would generally come to rouse me, not like this. My people know that if I'm not at breakfast, I've had a rough night. I am fairly certain it's Michonne. She's an early riser, I've noticed. I don't want to kid myself and assume she cares about me not being up; she probably just wants to know what the plan for today is.

"Come on in," I call out. The door creaks open and she peers inside.

"Sorry," she says, taking note of my state of undress; I'm only wearing boxer shorts. She avoids looking at me; I find her bashfulness amusing. "I'll come back later."

"Gimme ten minutes," I say. "And I'll meet you down in the guest house."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

The smell of freshly brewed coffee on a quiet morning makes me feel like it's any other normal morning from my past. From before I got into this line of work. I still remember the long hours and lonely nights; the sense of boredom and monotony. Now, as I am sitting in the guest house of crime boss, Rick Grimes, things are far from boring.

While I haven't spoken directly to my handler in a small while, the operation is progressing adequately. Grimes will brief me about what we are to do next, and, I suspect, he'll be off to another meeting. I watch out of the opened window and see him walking towards the small building. He appears to have had a shower; he still looks weary. He knocks thrice and waits for me to allow him entry. I call out for him to come, and he does.

"Got another one of those?" he asks, gesturing towards the steaming beverage.

"I sure do," I reply, as I point to his mug sitting atop the counter. Before my true identity was revealed, he and I would often share thoughts over coffee; this felt like one of those times. We didn't really speak at length about anything other than business, but it was comfortable and easy, all the same. "Are you okay?"

The question of concern falls from my lips before I can stop myself. Grimes gives me a curious look, but answers either way.

"Tired," he admits, before taking up a seat at the table with me. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

I nod my head, "Yeah, you don't look well-rested at all."

"No, I don't suppose I do," he replies. "You, on the other hand, look great."

"Thanks," I say. He searches my face for a further response; I cannot hide the small smile that forms. He drinks his coffee, but still keeps his eyes on me. I place both hands on the warm cup. "So, where are we at?"

"They want to meet again in a couple of days," he offers. "Mainly to discuss their needs. The meeting place hasn't been confirmed yet."

"Will the target be there?"

"You mean Negan?"

"Yes."

"I couldn't say," Grimes rejoinders. "Could be a completely different person this time; they seem to like doin' that."

"Do you think we'll get any closer to meeting him?" I query.

"Maybe," he answers.

"You don't sound convinced," I press.

"These types of things aren't straightforward, Michonne," Grimes offers with a sigh. "This is new, this business deal between our outfits. They're gonna wanna play it safe."

"Okay," I reply. "I get that. Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure," he says.

"Why don't you play it _safer_?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"I mean, _you_ actually meet with your buyers," I make a point of saying. "I've been on _how_ many business meetings with you? Every time you've met a buyer, they were given the opportunity to meet with you _personally_."

"That's how I like to do it."

"That's not exactly _safe_. That's how we caught you."

He lets out a wry chuckle and tilts his head to the side. "You ain't wrong. I guess it helps to close the deal if I'm there."

"How so?" I ask. "I just want to understand it."

"Well," he starts, leaning back in his chair. "I've got a reputation. I've been on both sides of the law. I'm like a freak show…"

"An anomaly," I say quietly, unintentionally.

"Right," he responds, tilting his head again. "When I was a cop, I was clean as a whistle. Never stepped out of line or cut corners; hell, I never even had a speeding ticket. When I gave up on that life, I fit right into this one. People talk about me like I'm some kind of _peculiarity_. They get a kick out of coming face-to-face with it; with me. I never shied away from lettin' people know who I am."

I nod my head slowly as I stare into his eyes; there's a sincerity and sense of self-awareness there that I envy.

"We walk a fine line, don't we? You and me; we know what it's like on either side, wouldn't you agree?" he asks suddenly, turning the inquisition to me; I feel my pulse quicken. He is right.

"Sure," I reply. "I don't deny it. I'm able to play the villain when I need to."

"Are you drawn to it?" he queries, barely above a whisper.

"To what?"

"The darkness?" he offers; his pink tongue trailing over his desirable bottom lip. "The danger?"

I consider his question a moment. "I'd be lying if I said I _wasn't_ drawn to it."

There's the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth again. His eyes carry a look of pleasured flickering; the mirth dancing lambently behind his cool, steely gaze.

"But that doesn't necessarily mean I like it," I add; now he is smiling, unhindered.

"We're a lot alike," he admits while staring into _my_ eyes; I briefly wonder what desires and secrets my gaze betrays.

"Maybe," I answer, before looking away.

xXxXx

 _Rick's POV_

The journey to town is quiet; Michonne sits beside me in the back seat of the car as Abraham rides up front with Spencer. Abe does most of the talking. I steal quick glances at Michonne; she laughs and smiles at his morbid sense of humor. I don't speak to her. I don't want her to have to exert any more energy than is necessary while keeping up with this charade. Though, it seems she does it with such ease that I almost forget she has been playing me ever since I met her. Still, I say nothing. Instead, I watch the familiar scenery flying by.

As we drive through the streets and head toward the town center, she turns to me and speaks.

"So, where exactly are we going?" she finally enquires.

"The Diner," I say.

"Right," she answers. "I forgot it was Tuesday."

I give her an inquisitive look. I wasn't aware that she was privy to this aspect of my schedule, but then I remember: This is Michonne, not Emm. She'd have already known about my movements prior to infiltrating my organization. I do frequent the Diner each Tuesday, much to Ty's protesting. He thinks I am making it easier on my enemies to find me. I have often joked with him that that is my plan. Actually, he's right. If anyone wanted to put a bullet in my fuckin' head, they'd be certain to find me at the Diner. I shouldn't be taking Michonne there; it could put her in danger. Though, I do admit, she is more than capable of taking care of herself.

"Sorry 'bout that," I offer.

"About what?" she answers.

"Keepin' you away from the outside world. The days can seem a little strange when you're stuck at the Farm," I relay. "They sort of mash into one another. I know it hasn't been the easiest transition for you, but I do wanna keep you safe."

It is true what I am saying; I think she feels the genuineness of my words, as she nods her head in understanding.

"I know," she says, softy; quietly. Seemingly, she steels herself to speak further, but Spencer interrupts us.

"Emm," he starts. "Did you wanna swing by your place and pick anything up?"

I shoot him an irritated look; I can see his eyes in the rear-view mirror. He looks at me quickly, then back to Michonne.

"Maybe later," she answers him with a smile. "If we've got enough time. Is that okay, Rick?"

"Sure," I reply. "If we have time."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

The car comes to a halt at the front of the Diner; Ford checks the immediate expanse and Spencer keeps the engine running.

"Won't be long, Boss," says Ford to Grimes, before he exits the vehicle. It is my understanding that this is a frequent occurrence. Grimes and Spencer keep their eyes trained on the surrounding area; Ford returns; Grimes rolls down his window.

"All clear," says the burly man, before he opens the door for his employer.

Grimes steps out, and I follow suit.

"Give us thirty minutes," says Grimes, before he holds his hand out to me; I take it and we enter the establishment.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

It's just before lunch time, and the Diner is a hive of activity. I don't usually come here this late, but my morning was spent talking to Michonne, and then organizing a meeting with a friend of mine. Many of the people who frequent the eatery are regulars. I am what you would call a regular. I've come here most every Tuesday since I started working as a cop, and even after I gave that life away for the one I have now. This forlorn, lonesome life. I've never shared this with anyone since…since _before_ everything happened. Michonne is the only person I've actively wanted to bring here; to be here with. I'm not sure what that means. I guess I enjoy her company.

She is stood next to me, dutifully holding my hand; maintaining our subterfuge. I feel somewhat regretful that she has to put on this front, and allow me to touch her. But it is her job; she is undercover. I just wish, deep down inside, that it was _different._ That she would touch me and mean it.

I shake my head. I'm being sentimental again. _God._ This place does that to me. I abandon my hold on her; she looks in my direction as we wait to be seated. My mind flashes back to the first day I saw her.

 _I check my watch; I'm running late for my next meeting. I told Spencer to wait out the front for me. I didn't plan on taking too long. Molly, the owner of the Diner, sees me and gives me a smile._

 _"_ _Hey, Rick," she offers. "You sittin' in or just grabbin' somethin' to go?"_

 _I am about to answer her when I see them; I see_ her _, sitting with Phil Wheeldon at one of the tables. She has to be the woman he was talking about. There is no other way a woman as stunning as her would be with him. I examine her face; her smile is brilliant and beautiful. Her eyes, big and brown; her lips, heart-shaped and plump. I find myself staring._

 _"_ _Rick, honey?" asks Molly. "You okay?"_

 _"_ _Sorry," I say, my attention being brought back to the red-haired woman. "Please, give me a sec."_

 _I walk toward my accountant and his lovely friend. Stopping beside them, I offer a greeting. Wheeldon introduces us and asks me if I would like to join them. I say yes, and then excuse myself while I tell Spencer of my plans. We spend the whole time chatting effortlessly. At the end of the meeting, I give her my business card. I was glad when she contacted me._

Emm, _Michonne_ , was charming right off the bat. In not so many words, Wheeldon had conveyed that she was acquainted with the same lifestyle as we were. She seemed smart and scrupulous, qualities that I was looking for in an employee. I knew the old man was looking to retire. It seemed fitting, and a stroke of luck, that Emm crossed paths with him again.

If I wasn't so taken with her beauty, and flustered by this strong attraction between us, I may have figured it was a little too good to be true. Hell, maybe I already knew it was; maybe it was not Michonne who had me fooled, but me fooling myself.

"What's good, here?" she asks, drawing me from my reverie.

" _Everything_ ," I answer; she stares at the chalkboard menu and squints, almost melodramatically. Sometimes I wonder if she knows how adorable she can be. We're interrupted by Molly.

"Hi there, Rick. How are ya?" she asks, taking her pen from behind her ear.

"I'm doin' fine, thanks," I offer, Michonne looks at Molly, then back to me. "We'll grab a table, please."

"All right, honey," she replies, and leads Michonne and I to a secluded spot near the wall. She takes our order, and leaves us alone.

"You'll like the croissants here," I state as she raises and eyebrow, but says nothing about me ordering for her. I notice that she is casing the area inconspicuously; something I may have missed had she not blown her cover.

"I'm sure they're great," she answers, her eyes on me now that she is satisfied we are not in any immediate danger.

"Abraham already checked it out, but I get it; you're thorough," I say, causing a little smile to form on her lips.

"You caught that, eh?"

"Yeah," I respond. "Like I said: He already checked the place out."

"Maybe he isn't trained to look for the same things that I am," she replies, a little haughtily; now I smile.

"No," I answer. "I don't reckon he is."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

The waitress begins to clear our table as Grimes and I are ready to leave. He thanks the portly woman and slips her a fresh one-hundred-dollar bill. He then takes hold of my hand once more and leads me through the busy diner. Just as we reach the door, his phone rings; he looks at the screen and then up at me.

"Head on out to the car," he instructs. "I'll be there in a minute."

I throw him a curious look, before doing as he says. I briefly wonder if it's one of his flings calling, though he promised me he wouldn't bring them by the Farm again. I'm still annoyed about that, and yet, I reason I have no need to be. I have no _real_ claim on Grimes. If there is something between us, something that exists outside of this farce, nothing can come of it. I know this, but sometimes, when he does something so natural, like trailing his thumb lightly over mine while he holds my hand, I think he may not realize it. I have to keep the lines clear. I have to remember what I'm doing here. I can't let this fire that is being flamed between us grow out of control.

Maybe it's one of the Saviors calling. Either way, as I approach the awaiting car, I peer back through the window at him; our eyes meet a moment and then he turns his back to me. Spencer gets out of the car to open the door for me.

"What's the Boss doing?" he asks. I shrug.

"Taking a call," I say; I don't get into the vehicle. Instead, Spencer and I stand on the sidewalk. "How was your break?"

"Boring," he supplies. "Mainly scrolled through Twitter on my phone. How was your pitstop?"

"Nice," I answer, looking back at the door of the Diner; Grimes is still on the phone. He checks his wristwatch and continues talking. "The croissants were pretty good, just like Rick said they'd be."

"You know what? I don't know if you know this, but the Boss, he doesn't usually bring anyone here with him," he tells me, leaning in close as if it were a secret.

"I kind of figured that," I answer. "Must make me special."

"You sure are," he replies flirtatiously; we share a smile and silence passes between us.

Before I can respond, Grimes is standing closely behind me. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me to his body; I feel warm under his touch. He keeps his hand on me. It's a possessive move; he's showing anyone who may be watching that I am his. He stares at his driver, and then asks, "Everything good here?"

"Yes, Boss," says Spencer, as he clears his throat.

"You good?" I ask him, not moving away from his grasp. "Who was that on the phone?"

He shoots me a cautionary glare.

"No one," he snaps, as he steps away from me and opens the car door; I feel somewhat snubbed. He is definitely holding out on me. He won't meet my gaze with his. "Spencer, take Emm to her place and wait with her. I have an appointment."

"All right," Spencer replies, as he moves and gets into the car.

"Grimes? What's going on?" I ask, just above a whisper. "Where are you going? Who was on the phone?"

"Not your concern," he retorts.

"Are you _serious_ right now?"

"Go home and get what you need," he answers. "I'll see you later."

"Hey," I say, stepping closer to him and taking hold of his arm. "I'm not one of your fuckin' goons, Rick; you'd do well to remember that. You need to tell me where you're going."

He abruptly pulls away, causing my hand to fall free; it isn't necessarily an overtly rough gesture, but it's abrasive enough to irritate me.

"Rick…"

" _Don't_ ," he says sternly, staring into my eyes before he begins to walk away.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I know she's pissed at me, but I can't let her know where I'm going right now, and I know she won't blow her cover in front of someone who works for me; especially someone like Spencer. I don't really want him to be alone with her at her place, but she can't be with me considering where I'm headed. I walk to the street corner and Abe pulls his car up near me. I glance back down the street and see Michonne standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at me. I stare at her a moment longer, before getting into the dark SUV and slamming the door closed. I let out a loud sigh.

"Everything okay with Emm, Boss?" Abraham asks; I grunt a response that is affirmative. That's a good enough answer for him, so he drives off. I check the small bag sitting on the floor and find what I'm looking for: A pair of leather gloves and a Glock nine millimetre pistol with the serial number filed off. I slip the gloves on and then pick up the handgun. I check the clip, satisfied that it is loaded, before placing it back where I have just retrieved it from.

"Where to?" asks Abe.

"Rural Route 7," I say.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

"Follow him," I instruct Spencer as the black truck pulls away and joins the steady flow of traffic.

"Emm?"

"Just follow him," I say, growing impatient.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he replies; I sigh loudly.

"Spencer," I say, calming myself as best I can. "If you value this friendship, you'll follow that fucking car _right_ now."

…..

"You know, if you don't trust him, you probably shouldn't be with him," says Spencer as he drives into the traffic and follows Grimes and Ford. My head starts aching; I wish he would just be quiet. I memorize the license plate of the unfamiliar car and reach into my purse for my phone. I send a quick message to Glenn, asking him to get one of our analysts to run the plate number. I delete the message and then run a program that wipes the message from my phone's memory. "I know it's not my place to say anything, but you're my _friend_ and I _really_ care about you. I don't want to see you chasin' after Rick Grimes, of all people, like a schoolgirl with a crush."

"Spencer," I say, barely registering his little speech. "You're gettin' _too_ close. He used to be a cop; he's gonna know we're tailing him."

"We're tailing him? What does that even mean?" he asks, disbelievingly. "Emm. Come on! This is stalker shit. If he's any kind of a decent boyfriend, he wouldn't have sent you off to pack more of your shit so he can skulk off somewhere he didn't bother telling you about. He's probably going to meet up with one of his fuck-friends again. He's got you blinded; just because he took you to get croissants or some shit…"

" _Spencer_ ," I say, thoroughly irked by his verbal diarrhoea.

"Does he have a golden dick or something?"

"What?" I query, finally focussing on what he is actually saying.

"The Boss," he clarifies. "He must have a golden dick for a smart girl like you to be actin' so damn stupid. He fucks other girls; he treats you like you're an employee, not his girlfriend. And here you are, acting stupid."

"First of all," I say. "You don't get to talk to me like that, okay? Secondly. What I do, or don't do, with Rick Grimes' dick is _not_ your concern, all right?"

"Emm, I didn't mean to…"

"No! You need to keep your mouth shut," I say, my annoyance levels at an all-time high. "Shit!"

Just up ahead, I see the car we are following come to a halt. Grimes exits the vehicle and walks toward us on the pavement before stepping onto the road. Spencer pulls over and rolls his window down, awaiting his reprimand. The older of the two men stops at the driver's side door and then reaches behind himself. He draws a handgun, and points it to Spencer's head. I hold my breath.

"What the fuck are you doin', Monroe?" Grimes asks menacingly; his Southern drawl is thick and laced with venom. His eyes, narrow and calculating; his tone, cold. "You followin' me?"

"I…I was…"

"You fuckin' _followin'_ me, asshole?"

"He's takin' me home," I interject swiftly; Grimes looks at me, then back at his driver.

"This ain't the way to her place," he speaks directly to Spencer, ignoring me as he cocks the hammer.

"Boss, please," Spencer pleads as I think quickly. Rick Grimes is a man with nothing to lose. He will not face charges if he shoots his driver point blank in front of an undercover Federal Agent because of our agreement. He knows that. That makes him dangerous.

"Baby, come on," I say, getting his attention again. "We were goin' to the supermarket first. This is the quickest way."

I shuffle across the backseat and open the door. Straightening my short skirt, I climb out. I walk behind Grimes, and then stand next to him, close by. I run my fingers up and down his arm, and he turns to look at me; his gun is still aimed at Spencer. I inch closer still, until my front is flush against his side. I reach up and brush my fingers through his curls before I lean in and press my lips to his neck; I suck there gently a moment, before pulling away ever so slightly.

"Don't do this," I whisper in his ear. I kiss his tanned skin once more; my hand resting on his firm chest as I alternate using my tongue, lips, and teeth. He smells musky and tastes brackish and my pussy starts to throb.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _What is she…?_

 _Oh, shit…Fuck._

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I cease my attentions and draw back from him. His eyes grow intense, almost wild, as he focusses on mine. He removes the gun from Spencer's face and places it at the small of his back. He stares holes through me as he tilts his head. There's a different kind of fire behind his eyes. Something I haven't seen before. I think I've crossed a line. I think…

 _Fuck!_

He grabs hold of neck; my breath hitches. Quickly, he pushes me backwards and drives his firm body against mine. I am pinned against the car; between cold steel and searing flesh. His stare penetrates me; his breath is hot on my face. I can feel his cock pressing hard against me. He moves his gloved hand from around my throat, and then runs his leather-clad thumb over my lip. My pussy starts aching. After what seems like forever, he leans in, closes his eyes, and captures my mouth with his. There's like a small jolt of electricity that passes between us for the most minuscule of moments; my eyes fall shut. He is rough and hungry, as if he wants to devour me whole.

I part my lips immediately to receive his tongue; my head starts to feel light as my knees grow weak. His mouth feels amazing against mine; he is commanding and knows what he is doing. His hand finds my ass. He squeezes it hard. My heart threatens to burst from my chest. When lets out a deep moan and thrusts his hard dick forward, and I feel myself growing wet. I am throbbing. He uses his leg to part mine; my skirt hikes up. He all but grunts as he grinds his arousal on me; and I know I am dripping by now. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, before biting down on it a second; I trail my tongue over his lips as we draw apart. He pulls his skilful mouth and strong hand away from me. Our eyes lock, and his stare is incendiary; both our chests are heaving. He reaches forward and wipes away my smudged lipstick. He shamelessly adjusts himself in his jeans before shifting close to me again and whispering, " _Don't_ keep following me."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks everyone for the feedback on the last chapter. I had just as much fun reading your responses as I did writing that for you. I was pretty stoked to hear that there were some of you who read the last scene a couple of times!

Sorry this update is a little later than I had hoped. Some familiar characters make an appearance in this instalment.

WARNING: Contains scenes of violence

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

 _Fuck!_

I'm so turned on right now.

She fucking…

I can't believe she did that to get my attention.

It worked, too.

I swear I wanted to fuck her up against that car right then and there. She tasted even better than I imagined. My constant visions and dreams of her did not do justice to the way her full lips felt against mine; how her skilful tongue lapped at mine. I can feel the pre-cum drizzling from my cock as I try to walk back to the car with some type of composure.

 _Fuck…_

 _Calm down, Grimes!_

It takes everything that's in me not to turn around and race back to her. To bend her over the hood of the car, rip her panties from between her thighs, and ram my aching dick into her. I glance back. She is still standing beside the car; she's looking at me. I am fighting so hard to steady my breathing as I get to the SUV.

"You good, Boss?" asks Abe, drawing me out of my lust-filled haze. "Didn't have to shoot the little prick?"

He smiles as he questions me. He really enjoys this lifestyle. I focus on him, then take the Glock and place it into the glove compartment.

"All good," I say; my voice husky, my dick hard. I get back into the car and slam the door.

"She's a good lil' woman," he offers as he shifts the car into drive. "You're one lucky bastard, you know that, right?"

"Yeah," I answer. My lips are still tingling from hers. "I know."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Spencer and I do not speak as we drive in the direction of my residence; soon, we pull up out the front of my place. I let myself out, and he follows me up to the door. We go inside, and I drop my purse to the floor.

 _Shit!_

What am I doing? I let Rick Grimes manhandle me like that? My skin feels flushed and my mind is racing; my pussy is _so_ , _so_ wet. I am _so_ turned on. I am so…

"Hello, it's Spencer Monroe for Deanna Monroe…can you just… _look_ , I understand, but can you put me through to her…I'm her son…"

My attention is now on Spencer's voice when I realize he has made a phone call.

"…Mom, I can't do this anymore…your crazy-ass buddy…he pulled a fucking gun on me… _What? What_ do you mean I must've done something to deserve it? Are you serious? You can't be serious. Mom? Deanna? Fuck!"

Spencer tosses his phone across the room and it crashes against my plain, light-colored wall. I train my eyes on him as he sits down on the sofa, resting his head in his hands. He looks frantic, and I remember why. In my own little episode of lust and desire, I forgot that his life was just threatened by the same man who's causing the persistent throbbing between my legs. I feel abashed. Slowly, I walk toward Spencer and sit next to him; I place a hand to his shoulder and he flinches.

"Spence," I say gently. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay," he replies, getting up from his seat. "Your fucking boyfriend just shoved his gun in my face, and then you were all over him like he's not a fuckin' psycho."

"I was trying to get him to back-off," I explain. "I wasn't rewarding him for what he did…"

"Save it," he spits. "He was gonna shoot me in front of you."

"He wouldn't have…"

"Yeah, he would've," Spencer whines. "He would've blown my brains out of my head and you still would've went home with him and fucked him and acted like it was nothing."

"You're out of line," I reprimand as I stand up too.

"And you're deluded," he retorts. "And probably a psycho like he is."

"You know what? Fuck you," I say as I walk toward my kitchenette; he has riled me up, but maybe he's right in what he's saying. I feel guilty and ashamed.

"Yeah, well," he scoffs. "Fuck you too, Michonne."

I stop dead in my tracks and turn my head quickly to face him; his eyes are thin, and his breathing is labored. He is staring right at me. I tilt my head and step toward him before asking, "What did you just call me?"

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The dusty dirt road is winding and constricted; no one really uses it anymore, which is why my meeting is taking place down Rural Route 7. Abraham steers the SUV off to the left and we head between the gate posts of an old rusted fence. A few dead branches from overhanging trees litter the narrow path; Abe does well to miss them as we drive farther along. Soon, we come upon a disused cabin. The remnants of my erection finally subside as we come to a halt. There is another vehicle parked near the side of the small wooden building.

"Check it out," I tell Abe.

"You got it, Boss," he answers, before taking his gun from its holster and climbing out of the truck. He approaches the car and peers inside before squatting down and looking underneath. I remove the Glock from the glove compartment and let my eyes roam over the surrounding trees. This is the perfect spot for an ambush, but I trust the man I am meeting today. I trust him with my life.

"Clear," says Abe; he takes out a cigar and lights it. I get out of the car and walk over to the cabin.

"If I whistle, come in firing," I instruct.

"Yes, sir," he replies. "I'll light this motherfucker up like a goddamn Christmas tree."

…..

It takes me a minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the cabin. The windows have black plastic fixed to them. The only light is from a small camping lantern sitting atop a round wooden table in the corner. Sitting at the table is a man. When I am able to focus my gaze, I see that it's my friend. He stands and walks over to me. We share a quick embrace.

"Good to see you, Rick," he greets; his voice is low.

"You, too, Morgan," I reply. "Been too long. I know you couldn't really say so on the phone, but you got somethin' for me?"

"You know it," he offers while advancing toward a door. "Come see."

I follow along behind him; he takes a set of keys from his pocket and places one in the keyhole. There's a clicking sound as he turns it. He pushes the door open and gestures for me to step inside. My eyes fall on a dark mass that's illuminated by a floodlight on a robust stand; I realize quickly that it's a person. They are hooded and bound to the chair.

"Who's this, then?" I ask, stepping closer; my anticipation palpable. The person begins to struggle when they hear my voice.

Morgan gives me a wry smile before he steps forward and yanks the black hood from the person's head. I clench my jaw before I grin as well.

"Milton Mamet," I say while inching closer. I see fear in his eyes as he tries to say something; the gag shoved in his mouth impedes his speech. "Where'd you find this slimy little fucker?"

"Pulled some strings and had a contact of mine in DC tracking his movements," Morgan explains. "As soon as he was Stateside again, I was notified, and I went with a team and picked him up personally down in Florida."

I clap my gloved hand to Morgan's back and let out a chuckle. I lean down to examine the captive's face. He has some cuts and bruises; there's dry blood under his nose.

"Looks like he had a bit of a rough trip," I smirk.

"Yeah well," Morgan replies, equally as amused I am. "Shit happens."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Spencer's eyes grow wide when he realizes his slip-up.

"What?" he asks, much of his frustration from before subsiding when he sees the seriousness to my stare. I step forward.

"You just called me _Michonne_ ," I say evenly. "How do you know that name?"

"Emm, I…"

" _How_ do you know that name, Spencer?"

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea," he says. "But I overheard you and the Boss talking a couple times, and that's what he calls you when he thinks no one is around."

"You've been listening to our fucking conversations?" I ask, ready to smack the shit out of him.

"No, no," he offers, raising his hands in an attempt to calm me. "It's not like that. I heard him call you that a couple of times. I swear."

I exhale loudly and place one hand on my hip, and the other to my brow.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't know it was such a big deal. I get it. 'Emm' is probably short for 'Michonne'. It's not that deep…"

"Stop talking," I demand. "Two things: First of all, the only person who gets to call me anything other than my name, is Rick Grimes. If your name is _not_ Rick Grimes, then you don't get to address me however you like. And secondly, you have no right to eavesdrop on us, Spencer. What the hell is wrong with you? Rick almost _killed_ you today…"

"Because I was doing what _you_ told me to," he counters.

"I know that," I reply, earnestly. "And I really am sorry about that. But you've gotta be more careful around him. You must know he's a dangerous man."

"I know…"

"Then why the hell are you creepin' around listening to what we talk about?" I ask. I honestly want to know what informs his logic.

"I wasn't creeping, Emm," he says; he is becoming flustered again. "I was worried about you, that's all. The Boss doesn't appreciate you. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"That isn't your job, Spencer," I state. "I don't know what else you heard…"

"Nothing, I swear…"

"But you can't tell anyone, okay?" I have to shut this down. "You can't even repeat that name, _okay_? He _will_ hurt you."

Spencer looks at me with glazed over eyes.

"He could hurt me," I say, playing on his affections for me. "Is that what you want?"

"No, of course not," he says, while stepping closer to me. He searches my eyes and I can tell that his fondness for me runs deeper than that of just friends. I have to work it to my advantage; I can't let him blow my cover.

"This world we live in is dangerous. There are rules we have to live by. You have to remember that, Spence. Something as simple as how you address someone could be the difference between life and death with men like Rick. _Everything_ in our world belongs to Rick, Spence," I whisper, as I shift nearer to him; I place my hand on his upper arm. "Including me."

I watch as he winces at my words. It appears to pain him, and I feel guilty, but I have a job to do. I squeeze his arm, before saying softly, "And no matter how much I _care_ for someone else, for another man, I can't do anything about it: Rick Grimes owns me."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"I own your ass, Mamet," I say as I sit across from my prisoner. "So, you might as well start talkin'."

"Grimes, I'm…" he spits out his own blood. "I'm telling you the truth."

"I don't believe you," I say as I stand. I take hold of his hair before punching him again in his face. He whimpers; I shake my hand, as if that will make the discomfort go away. It still hasn't fully healed from the last time I had to hit some prick who was withholding information from me. The leather gloves I am wearing help to cushion the blows, for both of us.

"Please," he sputters. "I don't know where he is."

I sigh loudly and stare at the beaten, bloodied man before me. I know he's lying.

"This is disappointing," I say to him, as I move forward and place the gag back in his mouth. "I'm gonna give you a little time to think about stuff and things. Hopefully, when I come back, you'll consider bein' honest with me."

Milton Mamet struggles some more; his eyes pleading with me not to leave. I pull the floodlight cable from its wall socket and the room goes dark. I walk to the door, and then turn to face my detainee once more before saying coldly, "See you again, soon, Milton."

…..

"It was good seein', you," I say as Morgan and I shake hands. "Thanks for everything."

"Don't mention it," he replies. "We're family."

He then hands me the keys to the cabin before adding, "I got that thing you asked for."

He gestures for me to follow him to the car he drove here in. He opens the glove compartment and retrieves a file. It has the seal of the Department of Justice's Federal Bureau of Investigation extoled on the front; it is stamped with the word _classified_.

"How hard was it to get this?" I ask, furrowing my brow, as he hands it over to me.

"It wasn't easy, and I had to piece most of it together; didn't come as a complete dossier," my oldest friend in the world replies. "But luckily, a lot of people owe me favors."

"I owe you more," I say sincerely.

We share an easy smile with one another before embracing once more. Morgan and I then exchange car keys; he goes and gets into the SUV while Abe and I take his car. We sound our horns at one another as we drive in opposite directions.

We return up the same road that we drove down almost an hour ago; Abe turns on the radio and starts to tap his hand on the steering wheel in time with the lively beat. Discreetly, I open the folder. On the first page, there is a personnel file. Some of the information is blacked out, in particular, the individual's name and address. There are several pages of case reports. I skim through them quickly before turning to the back of the file. Fixed to the thin cardboard folder by a small binder clip is a photograph of Special Agent Michonne Bourdain. I trail my hand lightly over the image. I recall how it felt to claim her lips with mine. It felt real; real beyond my wildest imaginings. She was not just trying to distract me before, I know it; she wanted me as much as I wanted her. I sigh and then remove the photograph, before placing the file into my bag. I glance at Michonne's image once more and then put the picture in my top left shirt pocket. It's gonna be _damn_ interesting when I see her again later.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Even though I know _Grimes_ knows I had Spencer follow him today, I still advised the younger man to go to the supermarket and grab a few items. He did as I asked. He reasoned it would be best to have the items should his employer ask about it later. I'm all alone now. I walk into the clean, sterile bathroom. It could be likened to one in a hotel room, though, those bathrooms have more character than this one.

The entire apartment is sterile, clinical; I only have the bare minimum of belongings here. There is actually nothing that would make one believe that a thirty-something, professional African-American woman named Emm Pearson lives here. It is fairly standard for the UC residences for most Agents; devoid of any real identifying features and keepsakes. It's easier for the clean-up crew at the end of the assignment. For the eight months I've been on assignment, only Spencer has been here. I have had no dealings with people outside of Grimes' outfit. Emm is close with them, and, by extension, I figure, so am I.

My phone vibrates on the countertop. I pick it up to see a message from Glenn, that reads: _Car is a rental. Picked up by a Rosita Espinosa in Atlanta yesterday. Forwarding her contact details soon._

Another message notification comes through. I save the phone number of Rosita Espinosa then delete the messages. I hear a knocking on my door; I know it's Spencer. I check to make sure, then allow him to come in. He has a brown paper bag with him.

"I've got the toothpaste for you," he says warmly, calmer now than before. "Your favorite: Spearmint and baking soda.

"Thanks, Spence," I offer. "You're the best."

I offer a chaste kiss to his cheek; he leans down to receive it with a smile. I am certain I have him on my side once more. Our little disagreement from earlier is smoothed over. I think he believes that there is some kind of hope for me and him. It's a dangerous thing, hope; especially in this situation. But right now, I need him to _want_ to be there for me. Hell, maybe I _need_ him to. I need an ally. I don't feel like I am in complete control anymore. Most of that fell away when Rick Grimes kissed me.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

Dixon's Auto Wreckers is a shithole of a business. Off the beaten track; overpriced and shady. The owners are two brothers. Merle Dixon is an inbred, white-trash piece of shit, and his brother, Daryl, I always thought of as a loner that follows his brother around everywhere. They were like that when we went to middle school together.

They've helped me out from time-to-time with the disposal of vehicles. I need to get rid of the car that Morgan brought Mamet here in. It must not be traced back to Morgan. Despite their shortcomings as decent people, the Dixons get the job done. Well, at least they use to.

We pull up out the front of their trailer-turned-office and Abe shuts the engine off. I grab the bag, get out of the car, and place the Glock at my back. Abe leaves the keys on the ignition and exits the vehicle. We both walk into the office; the Dixons are waiting.

"If it isn't Officer Friendly," says Merle Dixon as he gets close to me; he smells of stale booze and even staler pussy.

"Step the fuck back," says Abe as he pushes on Merle's chest.

"All right, all right," he says, licking his bottom lip. "I know the drill. What exactly can we do for y'all today? The crusher's outta commission."

"Well, that just won't do," I reply. "We needed to get rid of somethin'."

"Might have to drive it on into town, get someone to tow it away for ya," says Merle; he glances sideways at his brother. Abraham notices the shifty gesture as I do; he draws his weapon.

"I'm gonna need you to step your ass from behind that desk, Princess," Abe says to Daryl as he points his weapon at him.

"Now just hold on a damn minute…"

"Don't," I say, while taking my gun out. I don't aim it at either of them, but let them see it. "Daryl, you heard the man, move your ass."

He does as he is told.

"You know what I find disconcerting, Abe?"

"Ah, Boss, you might wanna use smaller words around these fuckers."

"Right you are," I say with a condescending grin. "You know what I find _confusing_?"

"What's that, Boss?"

"That these two pricks were sayin' they would help us out today; that everything was fine, but now," I gesture with my gun in their direction. "Now they're sayin' the crusher's shit itself."

"That shit's _very_ confusin', Boss," says Abe. "It's like they don't really wanna help us out at all."

"That ain't true," says Merle. "We always help y'all…"

"Shut your dusty ass all the way up," Abe spits. "I never liked you, Dixon. Gimme a good excuse to drop you right now."

"Come on, man," says Daryl. "There's no need for this. I'll go out and try the crusher again, see if I can't get it goin' or somethin'."

"Don't move," I say, as I stare him down and raise my gun. I have a score to settle with these two. They gave me their word that the Kentuckians, who turned out to be Feds, could be trusted. Instead, I had Michonne pull a gun on me and arrest me. Abraham and Tyreese know nothing about this. Michonne did well to handle my men when I offered to give the FBI Negan for clemency. My people have no inkling that the Dixons sold me out; that Emm is not who she says she is. Right now, in this moment, I have the chance to kill two birds with one stone: Ensure Michonne's cover remains intact and get revenge on those who betrayed me. "Go take Daryl out to the car."

"You sure?" asks Abe.

"Yeah," I answer. "I need to have a little word with Merle."

Abraham nods his head and then grabs the younger Dixon by the scruff of his neck; he pushes him out of the door. The older Dixon and I are left standing in the musty office.

"I got some questions for you," I say, stepping closer. "Which one of you ratted me out to the Feds?"

"What you talkin' about, man?"

I hold the end of my gun between his eyes, "Don't make me ask twice."

"Aww, hell. It was Daryl," Merle admits, without further prodding from me. "He's the rat. He wanted out. He made a deal. He…"

 _BANG!_

I fire one shot and Merle Dixon's lifeless body slumps to the floor; blood sprays everywhere, including on my face and clothes. I use the back of my hand to smear it away before clenching my jaw, dropping the Glock, and walking away. Abe has already wrestled the other Dixon to the ground when I step past them.

"What the fuck did you do to my brother, you prick?" he screams frantically. I keep walking; I don't stop, even when I hear Abe's gun go off and Daryl's protests stop.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I ride in the front of the car with Spencer as we drive to the location Grimes has instructed to come to. I have the items he has asked me to bring. My stomach is turning. I don't have a good feeling about what's happening. I chose not to question him further when I spoke to him ten minutes ago. I remind myself he is dangerous. As we come the decrepit looking business that could be mistaken for a junkyard, my stomach drops. Realization sets in: This place belongs to the Dixons. Grimes has made payments to them, two thousand dollars at a time, over the past several months. I recognize their business name from doing his books; I also know them from the deal that they made which helped us to arrest Grimes. I did not think he'd look for payback from them, since he is working with law enforcement himself, yet, it seems, it is the reason for our current rendezvous.

I see Ford dousing a car with gas, before pouring the liquid up the steps of the trailer, and into the sliding door of the office. Spencer and I get out and watch. Suddenly, Grimes is walking in our direction. I straighten my stance and instinctively lick my lips before placing the duffle bag on the hood of the car we arrived in. Grimes keeps his eyes fixed on me as he approaches; I can see that he has blood on his shirt and face. I immediately feel short of breath.

"Rick," I say quietly as he comes to stop in front of me; I feel the need to reach out to him. "Are you okay? You're bleeding…"

"It ain't my blood," he says coldly, never taking his eyes off of me. He then starts to undo the buttons of his shirt and remove it. My gaze falls down to his bare chest and toned abdomen, before I catch myself ogling him. "You got somethin' for me?"

"Yeah," I say, shaking my head slightly as my focus is drawn back to the task at hand. I reach into the bag and retrieve a brown t-shirt for him; he pulls it on. It is tight and clings to his body; I can see each muscle under the brown fabric. This is not the time to be distracted by his attractiveness; something awful just happened. "Sorry, it's the only shirt I had at my place that would fit you."

"Thank you," he says softly, his iciness thawing slightly. I notice he removes something from the pocket of his soiled garment and slips it into his jeans, before he uses the shirt to wipe more blood from his face. "Abe?"

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Burn this, too," says Grimes as he throws his bloodied shirt to Ford. The burly redhead holds a match to a ream of paper and then tosses it into the window of the car. Flames catch right away as the gas acts as an accelerant. He wipes Grimes' discarded shirt across the hood of the car, soaking up more gas, before ambling toward the office again. He holds a match to the shirt and it catches on fire; Ford quickly heaves it through the door; the trailer starts burning. He then lights his cigar, picks up a bag, and heads in our direction.

Grimes takes the bag from Ford and we all climb into the car silently. Spencer keeps his thoughts to himself; I steal quick glances at Grimes; Ford turns on the radio. We leave the scene just as the heat from the inferno wafts in our direction. As we inch up the road, the burning car explodes behind us. It startles me, and I curse out loud; the man next to me does not even flinch.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

Shit, my hand is stinging. I must have hit Mamet harder than I thought. I glance at Michonne and then remove the gloves; I place them in the bag she has brought with her, after, I take out the wet wipes and clean my face. Next, I run another of the cool cloths over my knuckles; they're torn and she notices. The same look of concern that she wore only moment ago at the sight of blood on me, spreads across her pretty face, but she says nothing. She is silent. I sigh. I think I've fucked this up, whatever this is between us. She knows I've just killed someone. I don't think there's any coming back from that. Whatever that electricity was between us when we kissed, may now have fizzled and died. My head starts to hurt.

"Let me see?" she says, holding her hand out to mine. I lay my palm in hers and she examines my knuckles. "This is bad, Rick."

I don't think she is talking about my injury. We stare into each other's eyes before she says, "This is really bad."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

"Drop me and Emm off at her place," Grimes orders. "Then take this car to Willie's to get the tires changed and a detail."

"Yes, Boss," says Spencer.

"What'd you need me to do, Boss?" asks Ford as he turns backwards.

"Take the rest of the day off," says Grimes. "Go get an alibi."

"Done and done," says Ford. "Rosita's waitin' for me. Monroe can drop around the corner."

My ears prick up at the mention of this woman. I make a mental note to contact her later, when I have some time. It seems I won't be able to do it directly after our short journey, as Grimes is following me back to my place.

 _Shit._

He and I sit in silence. The heat from our bodies swirls through the small space. I am hyper-aware of his physicality and how close he is to me. I cannot help but sneak little glimpses of him. I remember vividly how it felt to have him pressed against me. How it felt to have his hand around my throat, and then grabbing my ass. And his dick. How hard he felt grinding on me.

 _Shit. Shit!_

We stop at the front of my residence. Grimes remains silent as he gets out of the car; I bid Spencer and Ford farewell and follow our employer up the steps to my apartment. He falls behind, and I lead him to my door. After unlocking it, we step inside. I stand with my back leaning against the door; Grimes notices, and turns to face me.

"About today," I begin.

"I couldn't tell you where I was goin'," he says quickly.

"You think I'd try to stop you?"

He shrugs, still holding my gaze, "You could've."

I sigh. "That's not on me. I'm not here to be your keeper, Rick."

"What're you here for, then?" he asks, inching dangerously closer to me. His eyes come to rest on my mouth. My skin feels warm once more.

"I'm here to do my job," I say, biting my bottom lip. "And I can't do that if you're distracting me."

" _Me_? Distracting you?" he queries, almost incredulously as he smiles crookedly and steps closer still.

"Yes," I breathe. "That kiss…"

"It was nice," he murmurs, eliminating any space that might have been between us.

"It was…It was a mistake," I say, my chest heaving; my heart pounding.

Grimes scoffs and then brushes my hair away from my face with his fingers. He leans in close to my ear, and whispers, "If you say so."

He steps back slightly and then draws the brown shirt over his head.

"What're you doin'?" I ask, growing increasingly flustered.

"I'm gonna use your shower to get cleaned up," he answers, not moving from his spot in front of me. He throws the shirt to my armchair. I can't help but let my eyes wander over his form. He reaches down to undo his belt buckle and I feel that familiar throbbing between my thighs.

I am shaken from my trance where there's a knocking at the front door. Grimes looks visibly annoyed by the interruption; he sighs loudly. I let go of the breath that I am holding and turn to see who is visiting at such an opportune, or _inopportune_ time. After peering through the peephole, I see that it's Spencer waiting patiently. I consider ignoring him a moment, but when he opts to ring the doorbell, I cave and open the door. He greets me with a sweet smile, that is until his eyes find a half-naked Grimes.

"What do you want, Monroe?" Grimes asks before I get to say anything. "I thought I gave you a job to do?"

Spencer lets his head fall, "You did, Boss. And I'm getting there. I…I just forgot something from when I was here before."

I step aside and let Spencer in. Grimes rolls his eyes.

"Shower's this way?" he asks me; I turn to him.

"Yes," I reply. "Towels are on the rack."

"All right," he answers, looking directly at me and taking his belt off. "Don't be too long."

I try to remain composed, but Grimes is, yet again, distracting me.

"I forgot my phone," says Spencer, snapping my attention back. "Well, what's left of it."

He lets out a little chuckle, and I follow suit.

"Let's have a look," I say, walking in the direction of where he threw the device earlier in the day; I can hear the shower running through the closed door. I try to force images of a naked, wet Rick Grimes from my mind.

"Here's the battery," says Spencer as he bends down and picks something up.

"I've got the back of it," I offer as I turn the item over in my palm. I hand it to Spencer; our fingers touch and it seems to affect him. He stares into my eyes and looks as if he wants to say something; I speak first.

"Don't think there's much left to salvage, Spence," I offer, referring to the device with the cracked screen.

He laughs a little, "Yeah, you might be right."

He places his phone into his pocket, and then runs his hand through his hair. Silence passes between us a moment. I consider the question that is in the back of my mind then decide to ask it.

"Spence," I say. "Can I ask you something?"

He looks hopeful; he nods his head, "Sure. Anything."

"What's the deal with your mom?"

He shrugs. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it was kind of hard not to hear your conversation with her earlier," I offer. "She and Rick have some kind of arrangement? Your situation..."

"Working for Mr. Grimes?"

"Yeah," I reply. "How'd that come about?"

"She sent me here," he says in a matter-of-fact way.

"Spence, you're a grown ass man," I retort. "What does that mean, she sent you here?"

"My mother's a powerful person," he sighs. "Like Mr. Grimes. When powerful people tell you to do something, you do it. We've got a lot in common, Emm."

"How so?" I query.

"We're here because someone in power wants us to be," he answers. I nod my head.

"Yeah," I reply. "You're right. Besides that, I think we've got other things in common as well."

"Like?"

"Well, we both have awful taste in movies," I tease.

"Hey! The Naked Gun flicks are hilarious," he responds; we both laugh. The mood is once again easy.

"True. And we're both cat people," I continue. He smiles widely. He deserves to smile after I almost got him killed today.

I hear the sound of a throat being cleared come from behind me; it is Grimes. His shower was quick. I face him. He is wearing only his jeans. He is drying his hair with one of my towels. I take in his appearance once more. He looks at me, and then at his driver.

"Back so soon, Monroe?" Grimes asks, before walking by us and slumping down on my sofa.

"Sorry, sir," Spencer proffers. "I just came to get my phone and then I'm going to do that job for you."

"I don't care 'bout why you're here," Grimes says harshly. "It's just annoyin' that you're _here_."

"Yes, Boss. Sorry, Boss. I'm gonna…"

"Emm," says Grimes, ignoring the rest of Spencer's explanation. "C'mere."

I do as he says; walking over to where he is seated, I stop in front of him. He reaches up and takes hold of my hand and draws me to him. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me down to his lap. I don't resist. I remain outwardly composed, but my heart is racing. I drape my arm over his bare shoulder. His skin, touching mine, is searing. I smile at him and play the doting girlfriend. There's a wildness to his stare. He does not blink. Spencer watches the display and waits until Grimes is ready to address him again.

"I thought we were gonna get some alone time," Grimes says to me. I smile sweetly at him and brush his wet curls from his brow.

"I know," I offer. He holds me firm with one hand to my abdomen, while he brings the other to my leg; he snakes it to the inside of my thigh and rubs his thumb back and forth. His touch his scorching. Spencer looks down at the floor.

"Seems like Monroe is always around, though," he states, looking over at Spencer.

"He's your driver, babe," I supply.

"Yeah, but even when I tell him to _not_ be around," says Grimes, as if the man we are talking about is not in the same room as we are. "There he is. And it's like he's always around you."

"Rick," I chide.

"You like hangin' around my woman, eh?"

Spencer lifts his head. "No, Boss."

"But you like interruptin' our alone time?"

"No, Boss."

"You got yourself a little crush, is that it?"

Spencer shakes his head.

"Rick, stop," I plead. "He's here now. Let's just go back to the Farm."

"Nah, darlin'. I just wanna know why he can't do what he's told," Grimes says, his gaze still trained on Spencer. "Why he always finds a way to be around you."

I close my eyes and let out an audible sigh.

"This is unnecessary," I say to Grimes, as I shift to get off of his lap; he grips me tighter and pulls me back down. I almost crash into his hard, naked chest.

"No," he commands; his grasp is strong; possessive. "I think it _is_ necessary. I think Spencer here needs to learn his place. Hey! You look at me when I'm talkin' to you, boy."

Spencer lifts his head.

"That's better. I'm only gonna say this once, so you'd better be listenin'," Grimes begins. "You do as _I_ say, okay?"

"Yes, Boss."

"You don't take orders from anyone else, you got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Not even Emm," he says, still holding me tight. I cannot seem to calm my uneven breaths. "You answer to me, okay?"

"Okay."

"And you need to keep somethin' in mind: See this woman here," says Grimes as he gestures to me with a dip of his head. "She's _my_ woman. Keep it professional between the two of you and we ain't gonna have a problem, you understand?"

Spencer nods.

"Say yes," Grimes orders.

"Yes," Spencer replies.

"She is _mine_ ," he says sternly. My heart is beating wildly. The incessant pulsing that Grimes elicits from between my legs intensifies. "Remember that."

Grimes turns his attention to me. He squeezes his calloused hand against my thigh, inching slowly upwards. He reaches the hem of my skirt but then stops. He looks me dead in my eyes and his stare is blistering; there's a fire dancing behind the clear blue of his irises. I fear that he can feel the moisture soaking through my panties. If he slides his hand a little higher, he'll feel it. Instead, he speaks again.

"Go on," Grimes urges. "Say it. So he knows."

I keep my eyes locked onto his. I can't look away even if I want to. I should never has pressed my lips to his skin; I should never have given myself over to him with such abandon. To be held at his mercy; to have this fire ignited within me. I feel alive.

 _So._

 _Very._

 _Alive._

And I'm scared, because saying the words aloud means they may be said in earnest, not as part of our affectation. I would know it. Grimes would know it. I should not say it. I should not even think it. Yet his rough hand on my soft skin spurs me. Our closeness and his musky scent adjures me. The deep, gravelly inflection of his voice, and the dominion that he holds, coaxes me. This seditious, torrid craving that has set my loins alight and made my mind a billowing haze; this persuades me. I steady my breathing and bite down on my bottom lip before saying evenly, "I'm yours, Rick."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! Thanks for the lovely, and funny, Asks on Tumblr. You're all appreciated. Okay, we have a bit to get through, so here we go. Enjoy!

* * *

 _Michonne's POV_

The car comes to a standstill around the back of the main house. Spencer remains silent as he pops the trunk and then opens the door for me. He does not wait to close it, instead, he retrieves my suitcase and begins to walk towards the backdoor.

"Spence," I say. "Can you take it to the guest house, please?"

I feel Grimes' eyes on me; Spencer nods his head and does as I request. I follow behind him.

"Hey," says Grimes. I stop, turn, and sigh.

"What?"

He approaches me.

"What're you doin'?" he asks. Shifting the weight from one foot to the other.

"I have a job to do," I reply softly. "And like I said, I don't need the distractions."

He sucks his teeth. "All right," he concedes, the vein in his temple more visible than before. "Whatever you need."

I nod my head before asking, "Can I go now?"

"Yes."

I dip my head and walk away from him. I wish he didn't make me feel this way. I don't want to lose sight of what I'm doing here, but damn if that man is not enticing me. I reach the door of the guest house where Spencer is waiting. I chance a look back; Rick Grimes is watching me. He waits and makes sure that his driver leaves my current abode. Satisfied I am alone with no other male company, he leaves. I exhale deeply and press my palm to my face.

 _Shit._

 _…_ _.._

 _Rick's POV_

It's been a draining day. I'm tired. There's a throbbing in my head. I place my bag to the floor. I remove my shoes and jeans and then I sit on my bed. I remember her photo in my pocket. I retrieve the item from my discarded garment; it is slightly crumpled, but still clear. Her elegant features on full display.

 _God. She's so beautiful._

Her deep, brown eyes stare back up at me. She is wearing a little smile on her prefect lips; it's in these quiet moments, without her proximity to light this fire inside me, that I appreciate what she actually does. She's good at her job, I know that much. If nothing else, I really do want her to succeed. I don't want to be a distraction for her. This façade is affording me the opportunity to be close to her. I knew that when I claimed her as my woman; I was anticipating it. She just brings out this wildness in me. This possessiveness. I have to have her. I need to have her writhing underneath me; calling my name. I need her. But I won't force her. I want her to want me right back. I know she does, but she has to _show_ me; I want her to be sure.

The burner phone rings and draws me out of my thoughts. It's in the bag with my gloves; I take it out and answer. A woman is on the other end of the line.

"The Sheriff's Department Annual Dinner this weekend; are you going?"

"No," I offer, wondering why the stranger would even enquire about that event.

"Well, you are now. Negan will meet you there. There are two tickets for you in the mail; keep an eye open for them. Negan will find you. Don't be late," she says before ending the call.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. The last thing I want is to be around those people from my past. That time of my life is over. While I have never been under investigation by the King County Sheriff's Department, I am not sure how many of them are actually privy to my unlawful dealings. They're not stupid. They know I'm not a farmer. They know who my father is. They have no proof, either way. This will be interesting. The pounding in my head escalates. I sigh. At least it'll be a good chance to have Michonne on my arm in a nice evening dress.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I still feel warm. I need to cool down. I need to shake this feeling. I need to be away from Grimes, from his voice and his gaze and his touch. I take out a glass tumbler and fill it with water from a pitcher in the small bar fridge. The cool liquid slides down my throat. I sigh. He killed two people today; well, two that I know of. He murdered them. He is using his time on the outside to clean house; and we've given him a free pass to do it.

 _Fuck!_

He has immunity. There's nothing I can do. Should I even do anything? Sure, those guys were scum, but what the fuck does that make him? Did they deserve to die? No. Of course not. I drink more of the water and then amble over to where Spencer placed my stuff. I quickly search the luggage for any listening or tracking devices; it appears clean, but a more thorough examination later is in order.

I unzip the bag and remove my laptop before taking it to the small couch and placing it on the coffee table. I enter my login details and then connect to a secure network. I do a quick Google search of one Rosita Espinosa. A number of LinkedIn profile pages load and I have no idea of knowing which one is the woman I am looking for.

I run a quick search of her phone number and find something: She's got Facebook account linked to it. Scrolling through the pictures, I see the familiar face of Abraham Ford with a pretty, young Latina woman. For some reason, I need to know why she is connected to these people. I haven't heard of her before, and now she's hiring cars for Grimes and his associates for goodness knows what. I don't like leaving lose ends. I will find out who she is. This will be a nice distraction from Rick Grimes. I settle in to do some digging.

…..

After thirty or so minutes of tracking Miss Espinosa down through her social media and other avenues, I finally find some information that is interesting: She has worked as a temp for the Atlanta Police Department. I put out a BOLO for the car she hired and I'm still waiting to hear about it. I check my phone once more, just as I see Grimes walking by the window. He's not going to get away from me this time. Closing my laptop, I walk hurriedly to the door of the guest house and exit it.

"Rick!" I call. He stops in his tracks and faces me, waiting for me to catch up to him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm goin' to the garage to get my truck," he offers. "Headin' back into town. You wanna ride with me?"

His tone is gentle. It confuses me. Most of his cockiness and intensity from before is gone; he actually has a hopefulness to his eyes. I get lost a moment in how they twinkle in the afternoon sun. I shake my head. Why does he do this to me?

"Where are you going?" I query, determined not to be taken in by his charms. I lift my chin and look directly at him.

"To town," he answers casually, as if he did not just sneak off, threaten Spencer, and then kill two people all in a day's work.

"Grimes," I say, stepping closer and lowering my voice. "If we're going to do this, then you have to be open with me."

"Do what?" he asks, inching forward himself. "What do you mean by _this_?"

I realise how it sounded. Like I am entertaining the idea of _something else_ between us. Something unprofessional. And maybe I am. Maybe he knows this. I need to keep the lines clear. I explain what I mean.

" _This_ ," I say, gesturing between us. "Working together on _this_."

"Right," he answers, somewhat dejectedly. "I'm sorry about before. About…"

"The murders?"

"No," he replies.

"Threatening Spencer?"

"Hell, no," he offers, before continuing gently. "I'm sorry about keepin' you out of the loop. About not tellin' you where I was goin'. But I'm bein' honest with you now. I'm just headin' on into town to grab a few things."

I search his eyes. They are so different when he is calm. It must be so exhausting to be Rick Grimes. To go from one extreme to the other. Yet, in the quiet moments that we share, when no one else is around, I can almost trick myself into believing that he's a regular guy. The quietness of his being; the softness of his tone. He is being sincere. I believe him.

"Okay," I say in hushed tones.

"Did you want to come with me?" he asks, tilting his head to the side.

"No, thank you," I find myself saying, minding my manners like my mother taught me to do. "I have work to do.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

This day has been too much. I wasn't expecting Morgan to bring me such a useful gift in the form of Milton Mamet. I smile to myself as I bring my truck to a stop out the front of the boutiques on Claymore St. I hope Mamet is using this time to re-evaluate his life choices. I hope his time spent bound and gagged in the dark helps him to come to a decision that is favorable to me and my interests. If not, I'll ram a knife in the base of his skull and dump his body in a shallow grave so that wild animals can tear him apart.

I shake the imagery from my mind and shut off the engine. I turn and look at the quaint little shop that I am about to enter. I hope she doesn't make a scene. She's been calling and sending messages constantly after I told her not to come back to me. After I told her we'd no longer be fucking. I deleted all of the pictures of her in various states of undress, demonstrating varying degrees of self-pleasuring. I have not responded. She is going to think I am here to see her specifically; I am not. I am here because her establishment is the only one in town that stocks what I need.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

My skin feels cool and clean after I shower. I use the towel to pat my skin dry, before fixing it to my hair. I grab the second towel and wrap it about my body. As I step out of the bathroom and into the main living area of the guest house, I am startled to see Grimes sitting at the table.

"Shit, Rick," I say, grasping the towel closer to my form. His eyes roam over my body. Suddenly, my skin is flushed warm again. "What're you doing in here?"

"I own it," he offers coolly, causing me to roll my eyes.

"Doesn't mean you have the right to be invading my privacy. Give me a second," I say, and he nods his head. I retreat to the bedroom and find my robe. After throwing it on and removing the towel from my head, I return to see what he wants.

"Why are you here?" I ask, standing near the wall. I won't chance getting close to him. Not when I am only wearing a very thin robe. The fabric causes my nipples to stiffen and become visible under the garment. I briefly wonder if he notices. I cross my arms and silently chide myself.

"I spoke to one of the Saviors earlier today," he explains.

"What did they say?"

"We've got a meeting with Negan," he says, almost proud of himself.

"Great. When?"

"This coming Saturday," he offers. "At the KCSD Annual Dinner."

"Excuse me?" I say, wondering if I heard him correctly.

"The King County Sheriff's…"

"Oh, I know what it stands for, I just wanna know why there? You're not a law enforcement officer anymore. Why there?"

"I don't know," he replies. "Maybe Negan has a sick sense of humor. Either way, I'm not excited about havin' to be there with the people I use to work with without havin' a valid reason. The Sheriff's retiring, so there's that. I ain't seen most of these people in years; haven't stepped foot inside the station in years. But if that's what it takes, then I'm gonna be there. Well, more specifically, we're gonna be there, _together_."

"God," I say, rubbing my hand over my brow and sitting down across from Grimes. "This day just keeps getting more and more bizarre."

A silence passes between us and his eyes remain locked on me.

"I got you somethin'," he says, finally. My gaze follows to the spot where he is gesturing. I see the cream-colored garment bag that is draped over the sofa.

"What's this?" I ask. He gets up and grabs the item. He unzips the bag and retrieves a short, strapless red evening dress. It's quite lovely.

"I wasn't sure of your size," he says, a little sheepishly. "But the color's gonna look great on you."

"I can't accept this," I insist, though it is nice, and I am flattered.

"It's not a big deal," Grimes says. "Just something to wear to the Dinner on Saturday. You don't have to keep it. Just leave it here when all o' this is said and done."

"Okay," I concede.

"All right. Look, I wasn't sure where you'd be sleeping tonight," he says.

"I think I might leave my things down here for a while," I answer.

"Sure. And I thought about what you said," he offers. "About us bein' open with one another."

I listen to what he has to say. There's a sincerity to his tone.

"I want you to know where I was today," Grimes says; I am surprised by his candidness. "Before we went to see the Dixons."

"Where were you?"

"I went to see someone I used to know," he offers. "An old friend."

"And you couldn't just tell me that?"

"They've got nothin' to do with this case you're workin'," he explains frankly. "I need to keep their identity secret, for their own safety."

"I still don't like you keeping it from me," I say.

"Well, you've kept a lot from me," he counters.

"It's my job," I offer in reply. "I have to do what's necessary."

"Like today?"

"Yeah," I answer. "Exactly like today."

Grimes clears his throat. We grow quiet again. I am remembering how it felt to have his body pressed against mine.

"So, I've got some things to follow-up on…"

"Are you gonna file a report about what happened with the Dixons?"

"I have to, eventually," I say. "You know that. I've already called it in."

"Right," he nods before standing. "It's your job."

"Yes, it is," I say, as if I'm reminding myself.

"I'll leave you to it, then."

I watch as he makes his way to the door.

"Rick."

He stops and turns, "Yeah?"

"Why'd you do it? Why'd you kill them?"

"I knew they sold me out," he replies. "They betrayed me."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Did you have any idea that I would betray you?" I ask. He squints his eyes as if he is contemplating the question seriously.

"No," he replies. "But lookin' back, I guess there were a few red flags."

"Such as?"

"You showin' up so like you did," he answers. "It was almost _too_ convenient. Wheeldon was on his way out. Then you moved here. I should have known."

"Why didn't you?" I question. "You're a good judge of character yet you didn't see me for who and what I am."

"Maybe I saw you for _exactly_ what you are," he says; his eyes are steely. I don't look away.

"What do you mean?" I ask, afraid of his answer.

"That darkness," he says softly. "I recognized it. It's all around you. I knew it was there. I could smell it on you."

His words cause me to shudder. The hair on my arms stand up. He keeps staring into my eyes. He frightens me sometimes.

"And that was enough to keep me around?" I query.

"We're alike. I could see something in you that felt familiar. It's that darkness. It's that sense of duty you have, but mainly the darkness. We've all done the worst kind of things; I guess I just want to know you. I want to know what things you've done."

I nod and then swallow hard.

"Thank you," I say. That's all I say. I don't have any other words for him. I don't like letting people close; I don't like genuine relationships with others. I don't like being vulnerable and naked to others; I dislike _feeling_ that way with others. Yet, I feel vulnerable with Rick Grimes. Not because I am afraid that he will hurt me, but because I am afraid that he _sees_ me. I watch as he turns to leave. I recognize there's something similar between us; I too can smell it.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The main house is quiet. Michonne is not in the room next door to me; most of my employees have gone home. Only my security people remain. Sometimes when it's quiet like this, I find it hard to keep my mind from flooding with memories. Some from the near past; some from farther back in time. All of them make my head ache. All of them, I want to bury.

I'm relieved that Michonne did not make a fuss about what happened with the Dixons. She knows I'll never be tried for it. I guess it's easier to get on with the task at hand. I drink from my glass and then open the file that's sitting on my Daddy's desk.

I start at the beginning. It's some personal information, including info about her clearance levels and skillset. I note her DOB. She's five years younger than I am. She looks a lot younger. I smile to myself and then I skim the rest of it quickly. Then I come to the case reports. Pretty standard. She's worked a dozen assignments; all varying degrees of time and danger. I see she infiltrated an eco-terrorist group for three months; was UC with a handful of white-collar criminals for less time; and worked a bunch of one-time sting operations with everyone from local law enforcement agencies to Homeland Security. The report I find to be most interesting is the one at the bottom of the others, the one Morgan said would be most pertinent: It's the Mike Anthony case. She was deep UC for two and a half years with his outfit. She was with him when he was gunned down in an ATF raid. And if the rumors are true, she was _with_ him in every way imaginable.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

His words are still ringing in my ears: _We've all done the worst kinds of things…_ His deep inflection sent a shiver snaking down my spine and through my core. Is it wrong that the sight of Rick Grimes standing there, covered in someone else's blood, made me feel warm? Flushed? That his cold, steely gaze, piercing mine, caused a persistent pulsating between my malleable thighs? Is it wrong that, in spite of everything he has done, I still desire him? I exhale loudly and close my eyes, even though my darkly shrouded bedroom is still, and there is an uneasy absence of light. I picture him, drenched in the deepest of reds; his sharp, blue eyes watchful and intense. His crooked smirk, brash and ever so inviting. Slowly, my timid fingers trail southward to find eager lips already swollen and moist at the thought of him. _It is wrong_ , I breathe as my fingers dip between my folds; slick and firm, how I envisage his cock would be as he takes me in every known manner. Filling me in the most delicious way. I bring my sodden fingers to my mouth and suck them clean, imagining that I can taste myself on his dripping manhood. I moan for a moment, resume my previous ministrations, and then rub my throbbing little bud. It is wrong that I want him so much. It is _so_ wrong.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

We haven't spoken much since the day we kissed. She's keeping her distance, doin' her job; I'm trying to respect that. I've used the picture from her personnel file to jerk off to four or five times now. Every time I stroked my dick until it was raw, her face was smiling up at me. Every time I found it difficult to fall asleep, I would seek out her smile; her warm, beautiful, eyes. And I would sleep. I would sleep deeply and she would come to me in my dreams. But dreams aren't enough for me. My calloused hand rubbing my cock until I explode is not enough for me. Not since I have tasted her lips and held her body close to mine. I thought I could keep my desires at bay, but after a few days and an absence of her presence, I want her even more. After reading her file over and over, I want her even more.

I toy with my tie again and check the time on my wristwatch. She is still getting ready. The Dinner is this evening. We received two invites in the mail, just like that Savior said we would. I'm feeling a little anxious at seeing my old peers, but I push it down to the bottom of my stomach. They couldn't help me back then; they're not going to get in my way now.

I lift my head when I hear her laughter; Ty holds the door open for her and she steps through it. My breath catches when I see her: She is wearing the red dress I bought for her. Her hair is out and her smile is wide. She is stunning. She is the most divine woman I have ever seen. I promise myself here and now that tonight, I am going to make her mine. Not as a ruse or a charade, but mine. Unequivocally mine.

…..

The function room at the Winnick's is festive. People are everywhere, holding drinks and engaging in conversation about the Falcons or the Hawks. I don't really care anymore. No one claiming to be Negan has approached me yet. The speeches and meals have concluded, now everyone is mingling and getting drunk; no one has spoken much to us, save for former Sheriff Greene, and I am fine with that. I nurse my whiskey and sigh. I search the crowd, looking for Michonne. She's standing next to Shane Walsh, one of the Deputies; their backs are to me, but he's saying something, and she laughs. He leans in to her ear and whispers; when he places his hand on the small of her back, I clench my jaw, down my drink, and walk in their direction.

I stop beside Michonne, and take her hand in mine; she turns to me and smiles sweetly, stepping away from Walsh and leaning into me. I wrap my arm around her waist and stare at the man who was only just making her laugh. I guess we use to be friends, but that was a long time ago. We went to high school and the academy together. He's a womanizer and an asshole; maybe I'm not that different.

"Havin' a good time, man?" he asks, sipping from his beer.

"Not really," I answer, before looking back at Michonne. "What was he sayin' to you?"

"Nothing," she replies. "Just small talk."

"Hey, there ain't nothin' to be worried about…"

"I'm not worried," I spit, as I stare him down. "But you should be."

"You know who you're talkin' to, boy?" Walsh retorts; I let go of Michonne and step toward him.

"Rick," she says. "Don't."

"Yeah, Rick," says Walsh. "Listen to your chick…"

"Walsh, take a walk," Morgan says, suddenly appearing on the scene of our altercation.

"Nah, I don't think I will…"

"Take a walk," Morgan demands. "Or by the time you sober up you'll be out of a job."

"You don't have that type of pull, Jones."

"You wanna try me, you little prick?"

Walsh scoffs, looks at me and then Morgan, before walking away.

"Thanks, man," I offer, trying to calm myself.

"I still can't stand that bastard," Morgan offers. "Excuse my language, miss."

"It's okay," says Michonne; she takes hold of my hand again and I feel the ire washing away. "I'm Emm. I don't think we've met yet."

"Morgan Jones," he replies. "Rick and I go way back."

"You work for the KCSD?"

"No, not anymore," he says. "I'm Chief of Police in Atlanta. Just back in town for the Dinner to celebrate Sheriff Greene's work."

"Morgan and I worked under the Sheriff for a long time," I explain. "We grew up together. He gets back to town every once in a while."

"So, you two already got the chance to catch up?"

"Briefly," I reply.

"He told me all about you," Morgan smiles politely.

"Really?" she responds, wearing a smile of her own.

"Of course," he answers. "Got yourself a good man."

"He's okay," Michonne offers jokingly; we all chuckle.

"Well, I gotta keep workin' the room," Morgan says. "Nice to meet you."

"It was nice meeting you, too," Michonne replies; Morgan shakes my hand, and then leaves us standing there.

"You've got friends in high places," she whispers; I go to answer, when a gangly looking waiter steps over to us. He hands me a fresh drink, and then speaks.

"Rick Grimes?"

"Yes."

"There's a leather jacket in the cloakroom; you'll find a piece of paper with coordinates in the pocket. Someone will call you tomorrow with a time. If you're not there at the location in twenty minutes, the deal is off."

He walks away. I turn to Michonne, "I'll get it, and then we'll go."

"Okay," she says. "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll meet you back here in a little while."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Finally.

We've got something. This whole evening might have actually been worth it if this information pays off. I am tired of pretending to enjoy myself here with these people who are pretending that Grimes isn't here. I am tired of the games these Saviors are playing. The next step had better be a meeting with Negan, or I'm going to have to re-evaluate what we're doing here.

I finish my drink, and watch as Grimes disappears through the crowd. I turn, and then accidently crash into someone.

"Sorry," I offer to the blonde woman, but she just shrugs and says nothing; I recognize her. She's the one who'd come to the Farm to see Grimes. She shifts past me and I shake my head; this information better be worth it.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I step into the hallway and go to where the coats are kept; it's a small, dark room. No one is using it tonight and there are no attendants there. I inch inside and find the leather jacket hanging on a rail. I take it down and rummage through the pockets; there's a neatly folded scrap of paper. I open it, and see numbers written down. Negan sure does like his little games. I place it in my own pocket, and then turn to leave. To my surprise, someone is standing in the doorway.

"The dress looks good on her," she scoffs.

"What're you doin' here?" I ask.

"My husband gets an invite every year, you know that," she replies. "Why won't you answer my calls?"

"I don't have time for this," I say, urging her to move; instead, she shifts closer.

"Rick, please," she begs. "I can fix this. Let me fix this."

She reaches for my belt buckle.

"Stop."

"It's okay, baby," she offers, while dropping to her knees. "I'll fix this."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

The line in the ladies' room was long. By the time I return to the festivities, Grimes is not there. It would have only taken a minute to retrieve what he went looking for. I check the time on the wall. This is taking too long. I should have gone with him.

 _Shit._

I quickly make my way out into the corridor and see the small, overhead sign that denotes the room he was instructed to check. I curse inwardly that this damn dress is so tight that I have nowhere to keep a gun. If Grimes is in trouble, I'll have to resort to using hand-to-hand combat skills; again, this dress does not allow for functionality. Stopping at the door, I press my ear to it, and can make out faint mumbling. Turning the doorknob, I swing the door open. I stop when I see the blonde woman on her knees in front of Grimes. He looks surprised. I offer him unimpressed look, and despite myself, I am visibly upset.

"You're fuckin' unbelievable, Rick," I say as I shoot him an irate glare before storming off.

* * *

A/N: The next chappie is already up.


	9. Chapter 9

_Michonne's POV_

"Hey!" I hear Grimes calling after me as I walk quickly down the corridor.

He catches up to me and grabs me by the arm.

"Don't touch me!" I snap as I try to shake free from his grasp. He pushes me backwards against the wall and pins me there.

"Don't walk away from me," he warns, his eyes fixed wildly on mine.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do!" I say as I shove him backwards; he stumbles slightly, and then grabs hold of my right wrist. I struggle against him. My breathing is labored, as is his. Our chests are heaving. "You're really out here gettin' your dick sucked in the cloakroom."

"I never touched her. She never touched me…"

"Yeah, right."

"It's true."

"Let me go!"

"Why's it botherin' you so much?" he asks, his eyes piercing into mine.

"Because it makes me look like an ass," I spit, staring right back at him. "You're supposed to be with me."

"I never touched her…"

"You're so full of shit, Rick," I say, as I try to get free from him; he holds me tighter. "You say we're in this together, but you're still on your bullshit. You're making me look stupid."

"That's not how it is…"

"So, it's cool if I go out here and fuck Spencer, then?" I ask snidely. "It's okay if I let him fuck me so all of your crew knows it? It's cool if I make _you_ look like a fool? Uh?"

His eyes narrow as he brings his hand up to the side of my face and grabs it firmly, so I cannot turn away from him.

"You're fuckin' him?" he asks sternly.

"No." I am short of breath.

"You wanna fuck him?"

"What if I did? What are you gonna do about it?" I test him. He tilts his head to the side and scoffs.

"Just answer me, Michonne," he says, ignoring my question. "Do you want to fuck him?"

"No!" I reply; he trails his thumb over my bottom lip.

"Then what do you want?" he says in a low tone; his drawl suddenly deeper. My heart is racing. My lip is tingling. I feel a pulsing down below. His breath, tinged with the scent of whiskey, is warm against my mouth. He is so close to me. He whispers, nearer still, "What do you want, Michonne?"

I exhale deeply and relax under his touch, before answering him earnestly, "I want you."

"Say it again," he demands, wearing a haughty grin.

He rubs his thumb over my lips again, and I part them, before trailing my tongue over his thumb, and whispering, "I want you."

Grimes wastes no time in claiming my mouth with his. He presses his body against mine and I can feel his hardness prodding me. He moves his lips to my neck, where he sucks the skin there roughly. I feel giddy and hot. I let out an involuntary moan and I feel him smile against my neck. He stops what he is doing, and we stare at one another. His eyes are the darkest blue I've ever seen. His lips are swollen, and his skin is flushed pink. He leans in near my ear, and then sucks the lobe, before whispering, "Open your legs for me."

Without a second thought, or a care that anyone could stumble upon us at any moment, I do as he commands. I widen my stance and wait. I watch as he brings two fingers to his mouth and wets them with his saliva. He then places his hand up under the hem of my dress and between my thighs. His fingers come in contact with my naked pussy. He gives me a devilish smile upon learning that I'm not wearing panties. He proceeds to rub my slit. My breath hitches when he slips a finger between my folds. We share a messy, hungry kiss while he fingers me in the hallway. I am so wrapped up in the sensation of his hands, tongue, and lips that I barely register the sounds of doors opening and laughter echoing in the corridor. He pulls away from me suddenly, stops his ministrations, and fixes my dress quickly. He stays close as we both fight to even our breathing; the couple who have interrupted us walk by and then Grimes looks at me and says, "Let's get out of here."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

She's so wet.

 _Fuck_.

She's so tight.

I pump my fingers inside of her while I rub her clit with my thumb.

Her legs are open and she's leaning into the leather of the backseat of my car. Our lips and tongues taste one another; she moans into my mouth.

Spencer can't see us, but I'm damn sure he can hear her little whimpers as I finger fuck her on our way back to the Farm.

My dick is aching, just waiting to follow where my soaked fingers are right now. I feel he clench her walls. She's close.

So. Fuckin'. Close.

I continue my attentions as I whisper to her, "Come for me."

"Ahh, ahhh," she breathes, her eyes falling shut as her head rolls backwards. She bucks her hips, "Oh, God."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Rick Grimes, organised crime boss and murderer, just made me come loudly all over his hand while in the presence of another person. I don't even care that Spencer was there and knew what we were doing. All I want is to get Grimes indoors and repay the favor.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I walk hurriedly behind her as we make our way to the guest house. I kiss her neck from behind as she fumbles with her key. I'm already unbuttoning my shirt.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

By the time I turn on the light in the guest house, Grimes picks me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and he carries me into the bedroom. He all but drops me onto the bed before he goes and switches on a lamp, kicks off his shoes, removes his socks, and pulls his shirt off; the discarded garment falls to the floor. I lay back and watch him as he approaches, never taking his eyes off me. He grabs me by the ankles and pulls me closer to where he is standing at the foot of the bed. He hikes my dress up and then spreads my legs. My thighs are still sticky from earlier. I reach for his belt and undo it, followed by his zipper. He stands there and lets me draw his pants and boxer shorts down. His thick cock springs forward, close to my face; I take hold of it. It feels heavy in my hand. Instinctively, I stroke it a few times and then wrap my lips around his big, smooth head.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _Oh, fuck._

 _Hmmmmmmm._

 _Shit. Shit!_

I stop her from sucking me dry.

While her lips and tongue are so good on my cock, I still want to be enveloped by her tight, wet cunt.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

"Lean back," he orders, and I do as he says. He kneels on the bed and shifts between my thighs. He spreads me wide open, before taking me by the hips and drawing me near. My legs rest over his. I draw the top of my dress down to free my tits; I rub my stiff nipples and watch him. He gives me a lust-filled smile and strokes himself. He takes his dick and rubs the tip over my slit. He trails my juices up to my clit and down to my ass. He's fucking teasing me, and I can't wait any longer.

"Rick," I whisper. " _Please_."

"Tell me what you want," he says.

"I want you."

"How much?" he teases, still rubbing his dripping tip over my aching center.

" _So much_."

"What d'you want me to do?"

"I want you to fuck me," I say shamelessly.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I slide my dick inside of her slowly and I let out an unintentional moan as my eyes roll shut. She's beyond wet for me, and just as tight as I imagined. I grip her hips and start to thrust into her, as I hold her gaze. I look down and watch as my cock dips into her pussy. My thick, veiny length glistening from her wetness. Her tits bounce with each thrust; she is holding onto my forearms. I grunt as I set an even pace; our skin, moist from sweat, slaps together as I drive my hardness between her swollen lips. She lets out a little moan every time I push into her.

 _Fuck_.

She feels so fuckin' good.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

 _Oh, shit._

He's so big. He's stretching me out.

 _Fuck._

I shift my hips slightly so I can take all of him and he drills me deeper and harder. I'm filled by his large, red cock.

I don't even care that he's fucking me raw. It's been so long since I've been fucked.

I dig my nails into his arms.

I want to feel all of him.

 _God._ He keeps pumping into me. He lifts me up, and pulls one of my legs up over his shoulder while he rams his dick into me faster. He wraps his hand around my throat and stares into my eyes.

 _Shit._ He hits my spot and I swear I might go blind from the intensity. I clench my walls around him and he lets out this loud, deep moan. He hits the same spot again and I have to close my eyes.

" _Fuck, Rick,_ " I find myself moaning _. "_ Right there. Just like that."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _Fuck_.

If she keeps this up, I'm gonna come inside of her.

I withdraw my length and try to steady my breathing. She looks at me hungrily; I lean down and capture her lips with mine. My cock is dripping with precum.

"You're so fuckin' sexy," I say to her; we share another kiss. "I wanna see that ass. Roll over and get on your knees."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I do as he says and kneel on the bed; I lean down on my forearms and spread my legs. I lift my ass up and can feel my sticky, well-fucked lips open up for him. Rick slaps my ass and then rubs both hands over it. He thumbs my drenched pussy and then, unexpectedly, he licks his tongue up along my hot opening.

"Hmmmm," he moans. "You taste so good."

He gives my ass a squeeze before he shifts closer. I hold my breath as I wait to be impaled by him again. He keeps one hand on my ass, and uses the other to guide his hardness into me. He starts thrusting right away. From this position, he hits my spot over and over again. He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls it hard; I arch my back.

"Oh, shit, _Michonne_ ," he breathes. "You're so fuckin' tight."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I let go of her hair then rub her tits with one hand; I hold her in place with the other.

Her pussy makes a sucking sound every time I ram into her.

Her moans urge me on. She's loving being fucked like this.

The need for release spurs me forward. I love fucking her like this.

I watch her perfect ass as it bounces when I drill her. I pump downwards, and she starts to whimper louder.

Her breaths are shorter; she's creaming on my cock.

 _Fuck!_

She's close now. I keep hitting her just how she likes it.

She's coming.

Fuck; she's coming.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

 _Ah ahhh ahhhhh_

 _Fuck._

 _Fuck._

 _Hmmmm hmmm._

 _Oh, God, Rick. Rick!_

 _Ohhhh, Rick._

….

 _Rick's POV_

My dick is so hard it's aching. I'm almost ready to burst.

Her walls tighten around my shaft. She comes loudly, calling my name.

I fuck her harder while her pussy pulses.

My name sounds so good when she moans it again.

 _"_ _Oh, fuck! Michonne."_ The words fall from my mouth in between my frenzied, shallow breathing.

I feel my climax drawing nearer.

My cock is throbbing.

I'm close.

 _Fuck. I'm so close. I'm gonna come._

 _Ohhhhhh, God!_

 _Ahhhhhhhh_

I'm gonna.

 _Fuck._

 _Hmmmmmm Michonne._

I pull out of her sweet, sopping wet sex just as the hot, sticky, white fluid squirts from the tip of my cock.

 _Fuck._

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I can't move.

My legs are shaking.

 _Fuck._

That was amazing.

My heart is racing.

My pussy is still palpitating.

I can feel his cum on my thigh and his hand on my ass.

He's trying to catch his breath, too.

I wait for him to move. For him to leave.

He shifts from behind me, but not off of the bed. He collapses beside me, on his back.

"C'mere," he says, gesturing for me. I straighten out and then move towards him.

He reaches his hand up and cups my face before kissing my lips. It's chaste and surprises me; he draws me into an embrace. My head rests against his shoulder. He holds my body next to his. I wait for him to leave.

"Fuck, I needed that," he admits, rubbing my arm. "I waited so long to do that."

I don't speak. I just listen to his breathing. We stay like that for a while, in silence, until he speaks.

"I can't stay," he says, barely above a whisper, as he absently traces circles on my damp skin.

"I know," I reply; I wait for him to move.

He stares into my eyes before brushing my hair from my face. There's a tenderness in his gaze. It startles me. I can't look away.

 _He's beautiful._

"I'm sorry," he says. I'm not sure what he is apologizing for. He shifts. I lift my head and we untangle our sated bodies from one another. He sits on the edge of the bed; I sit up and fix my dress. We remain silent. I admire his defined back muscles. He turns and looks back at me.

 _He's so beautiful._

I don't want him to go. I don't want this to end. I crawl over to where he is sitting and start to pepper his shoulder with kisses. Next, I unzip my dress and throw it to the floor before I kiss his neck. I watch as his cock starts to quiver. I reach down and start to stroke it. It's still wet from my juices and his cum; he's set hard again.

"I know you can't stay," I tell him as climb onto his lap and straddle him. I run my fingers through his curls and grind against him. He sucks my nipple into his mouth and squeezes my ass again. I take his hardness and guide him inside of me once more. I roll my hips and slide up and down his dick; we stare into one another's eyes as I ride him. "You can't stay, but you don't have to leave just yet."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I collapse on top of her after spilling my seed just below her navel. We share another exhausted, messy kiss.

There's no going back to how things were before.

I know what she feels like.

I know what she tastes like.

I know what my name sounds like falling from her pretty, perfect lips.

I've claimed her; she is mine.

Michonne is mine.

For now, at least.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Hey everyone! Still with me? Alright, then! This is a short filler chapter that is focussed on the aftermath of Richonne _finally_ coming together; I felt like they needed an entire chappie dedicated to what happened _after_. I'll get back to the UC operation in the next instalment, but for now, please enjoy this offering. Wow! Chapter 10 already? Thanks, everyone.

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

I don't know what time it is, but there's small rays of light breaking through the cracks in the blinds. I roll over and she is snoring softly beside me. The bedsheet is covering her nakedness; her chest rises and falls evenly as she breathes. I watch her for a while. She looks peaceful; beautiful. _Sated_. I haven't slept in a bed with anyone since… _before._ I couldn't leave her. Even though I was telling her, and myself, that I had to.

In spite of this dangerous world I live in, l feel safe when I'm with her.

I can't explain it; it's like that dull aching inside of my head goes away whenever she's close to me. It's like the darkness that shrouds my days lifts when she is nearby. I roll onto my side and stare at her while she sleeps. She looks so relaxed. That front she has up to hide who she really is, is gone. That veil came down last night when she gave herself over to me. I saw her, not just her perfect body that fit together with mine like no other ever has, or ever will; I saw who she really is. She's lost. She hides herself away; she lives a secret life because she's not completely comfortable with who she is; that darkness inside of her that draws her to work such as this. That draws her to bad men like me.

I shift nearer to the beautiful, enticing woman beside me and drape my arm over her. She stirs and stretches out.

"You're still here?" she whispers drowsily, after a moment, as her eyes focus on mine. I kiss her shoulder and rub her stomach.

"Yeah," I answer, snaking my hand up to her tits; I massage her nipples until they stiffen. "I wanted to be here when you woke up."

Her once steady breathing becomes erratic when my hand trails down her body and finds her sex. She's still ripe and moist from the night before. She parts her legs slightly to grant me better access; I rub her, and she moans, softly, until it sounds more like a little wince. I stop my attentions; I search her eyes.

"Did I hurt you last night?" I ask, genuinely concerned that, in my desire for her, I may have been too eager to fuck, and caused her damage.

"Not really," she answers. "I like it rough, but it's been a little while for me."

She takes hold of my hand and guides it back to her pussy. Both our fingers work over her lips until she is wet. She offers her mouth to me, and I capture it with my own. I am not at all surprised at how much I enjoy kissing Michonne. She knows how to use her full, plump lips to tease mine. Kissing her makes me feel closer to her, even though last night, we were as close as a man and woman could be; there's a different level of intimacy with kissing. It's very personal.

I dip two fingers inside and she whimpers into my mouth.

"You sure you're okay?" I ask, resting my forehead against hers; my cock is set hard and pressed against her leg.

"Yeah," she replies as she threads her fingers through my hair. "I'm just tender."

She moves her lips and kisses my neck.

"Your dick is huge, Rick. It was a lot to take," she whispers to me seductively, causing my erection to quiver. She's teasing me. I like it.

"You took all of it like a good girl," I growl.

" _Hmmmmm_. I need a little time to recover," she answers, honestly. "That's all. I just need you to be gentle."

 _Fuck._

I want her so bad right now. I rip the bedsheet from off of her body. I shift my weight on top of her, and position myself between her thighs. She stares up at me with her big, brown eyes; half-pleading for me to fuck her raw, half-pleading for me to go gently. She inches forward and licks my Adam's apple, and then spreads her legs open. I suck her tit into my mouth; I bite down with my teeth. She whimpers at the contact. I trail kisses down her stomach and circle my tongue around her navel.

I force her legs apart wider, before rubbing my nose over her pussy lips. She smells musky and sweet; her juices mixed with mine. I dip my tongue to her center and lick the full span of her slit. Her damp curls frame her swollen folds; I use my fingers to stretch her open. The glistening pinkness of her sweet sex is set pretty against her gorgeous, dark skin. I use my thumb to coax her clit from under its hood. She gyrates her hips as her sensitive little nub appears for me; eager and waiting to be ravaged. I then lick and suck her bud into my mouth. I slip two fingers inside as I work my tongue over her.

" _Fuck, Rick_ ," she calls as I devour her hot, wet cunt.

I remove the sopping digits and lift her leg over my shoulder as I continue to lap at her sex. She threads her fingers through my curls and grips tightly. I suck her swollen lips into my watering mouth and I hum. She tastes so good. I press kisses to the inside of her thighs to give her a moments respite from my voracious appetite.

"Don't stop," she breathes headily.

I smile and then lick her pussy unhurriedly; I drink her up slowly, teasingly. Appreciating the softness of her sex; a stark contrast to the firm hardness of my own sex, now dripping for her. I rub my hand over her moist opening; signs of her arousal coat my palm. I then wet my cock with her juices as I stroke it momentarily. But this isn't about me getting off right now. It's about making her come. I press my mouth back to her center and continue to lap at her. I suck her clit a few times before running my tongue over her opening. I lick two of my fingers, and then slip them inside of her hot, tightness. I pump them in and out as I suck her throbbing bud. Her moans grow louder as my attentions hasten.

"Oh, God. Rick," she mewls, grasping my hair firmer. Her response to my ministrations spurs me forward. I consume her more quickly. Her breaths are shorter; her moans, louder. I suck and lick and finger her harder and harder, and faster and faster. She bucks her hips; I hold her in place with my arm. She's close. Her pussy walls clench my fingers. She pulls at my curls, lifts her ass from the bed slightly, and comes in my mouth.

 _"_ _Fuck,"_ she breathes. "Rick."

I withdraw my fingers, and then rub her wetness over my length. After a few strokes, I spread her legs and position myself at the gushing delta between her thighs. She hasn't even caught her breath as I lean down, rest my aching red cock against her stomach, and claim her mouth with my own. Our tongues wet and eager. She can taste herself on my lips. She moans against me.

I shift so that I can kiss her neck and collarbone. I take hold of my dick and rub the tip over her slit. I stare into her eyes as I massage her pulsing clit with the smooth head of my straining cock. I slip my glistening crown just between her swollen folds, before wrapping my hand around her throat; she holds my gaze with her lust-filled eyes. I can feel her pulse.

"You still want me to be gentle?" I ask, as I inch my thickness slowly into her. She envelops me. I try to calm myself.

 _Fuck._

 _She's so tight._

Her breath hitches as my length eventually fills her. She's still throbbing from her orgasm. I don't move; I don't thrust. I leave my uncovered cock, all veiny and hard, inside of her soaking pussy as I stare into her eyes, and ask again, "Do you want me to be gentle?"

I feel her swallow hard under my grip, before she whispers, "No."

…..

I wipe my cum from her smooth skin with the bedsheet, before tossing it to the floor. I roll over to lie beside her as we both fight to find some composure. She looks breathtaking in her nakedness. Sated and gleaming from the light sheen of sweat that caresses her perfect body. Her eyes remain closed as she lets the remnants of her climax dissipate and her heartrate return to normal. I can't take my eyes off of her. I reach over, grip her sight frame, and draw her nearer to me. I want to feel her skin against mine. I want to hold her until our world stops spinning. She is pliant under my touch and comes to me willingly, resting her head on my sweat-covered chest. She drapes her arm over me, and I take her hand in mine. Entwining our fingers, I admire the contrast of our skin tones; it's beautiful. _She_ is beautiful.

"This…" she starts, but I finish for her.

" _…_ _is different_. I haven't spent the whole night with _anyone_ , since my wife," I say; surprising myself for admitting that.

"Why?" she asks, lifting her head so she can look at me.

"I don't know," I offer sincerely. "I never cared enough about the other women. You're different. _This_ is different. This is…"

"Let's not put a label on it," she interjects. "It is what it is."

"No," I say, holding her firmer. "There's a label for it: You're mine, Michonne. I'm yours: We belong to each other and that charade is out the window, now. We're together. It doesn't matter how long that's gonna be for; but it is _how_ it is. At least for me."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I am sore all over, but in a good way. The muscles in my legs, and back, all ache; I should have done some stretching, I muse. How was I to know that we'd end up in bed together? I'm sitting here shaking my head with a ridiculous smile on my face. I cover my mouth and stifle my sigh. I cannot believe what transpired between Rick and I last night, and then again, this morning. It was as if all of the tension that built up between us over the better part of the year burst out of us. I am tender between my legs. He was unmerciful when he fucked me.

 _God_.

I can feel the demanding little throbbing again at the thought of what we did. I can still smell him on my skin; I can still taste him. I sip from my coffee and stare out across the back area of the farm. Workers are tending to their duties, oblivious to the sense of excitement and dread that's swirling around inside the pit of my stomach. We went _there_ ; we _really_ went there. _I_ went there. And it was mind-blowing. I gave myself over to him _fully_ , and it was intoxicating. It was liberating, yet overpowering to all of my senses. He has gained ascendancy over me, and all it took was for my body to be melded with his. I am drawn to his flame, and proximity to flames often results in something being burned. Not just my flesh being scorched under his firm touch, but my whole existence. I know he is dangerous. I know this is wrong. I know what is at stake, yet when I am with him, all of that falls away. I want to be consumed by him. I want to be burned.

I am shaken from my personal musings by the sight of Spencer. He is carrying a bucket and some car cleaning supplies and walking towards Grimes' truck. I haven't spoken much to him at all recently. My face grows warm when I remember how I was a moaning, writhing mess in the backseat of the car. How Spencer had to have heard _everything._ I feel slightly guilty _now_ , given his proclivities toward me; but the licentiousness of the whole affair turned me on even more. I was too busy melting under Rick's touch in that moment to care. Yet now, as I watch his driver trying to act as if he does not see me in my regular perch, I am slightly abashed.

"Spence," I call out to him; he doesn't give me his attention. Instead, he begins to fill the bucket. I sigh, and move to stand. The discomfort in my joints cause me to wince a little.

 _Rick really didn't hold back._

After a brief moment, I amble down the steps, and over to Spencer.

"Hey," I say. He looks at me, then back at the bucket.

Hi, Emm," he greets.

"You good?" I ask; my concern is genuine. He sighs, dejectedly.

"I'm good," he answers. "Just tired."

"Come and have some coffee with me," I say to him. He stops the nozzle of the hose and drops it to the ground, before looking past me and back up to the main house.

"Better not," he says cautiously. "I got a ton of work to do."

"You sure?" I query.

"Yeah," he answers. "Don't wanna be any more in the shit with the Boss than I already am."

I nod. He seems _different._ This could be a problem. _He_ could be a problem. I don't need this to be any more complicated than it already is.

Okay," I answer. "Maybe later?"

"Sure," he says, finally looking me in the eye and smiling. "Later."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I watch their exchange from the back door of my family's home. My disdain for Spencer is like a festering abscess. I owe his mother. I'd be bad for business to kill him. Though, I am going away for a long time, so what does it matter? I could walk over and put a bullet between his eyes right now. But Michonne is somewhat _fond_ of him. It'd put me in her bad favor if I did end him, so I think the better of it; though, when he smiles at her like that, my finger itches.

I don't call out to her. I wait for her to notice me. When she does, she offers me a genuine beam. It is bright, beautiful, and contagious; I respond to her in kind. She saunters towards me. Her movements are graceful, though somewhat different. It's her gait; she seems to be slightly bowlegged today. I smile once more to myself at the knowledge that _I_ did that. _I_ am the reason for her wide stance.

She makes her way up the back steps and stops in front of me. I want to touch her. My fingers itch like before, but for another reason now. I am surprised when she closes the distance between us and tugs at the collars of my button-down shirt. It is natural. Not contrived; not for show.

"Any word yet?" she asks, referring to the Saviors.

"Not yet," I answer, captivated by the way her eyes gleam in the light of day.

"Well, when you do hear something, I'm coming with you," she states, determinedly.

"Yes," I smirk. "You are."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

We've waited all day.

I passed the time by arranging prices for funds exchange, should Negan be ready. I made contact with Glenn. The pizza he delivered was particularly nice. I think I had worked up a great appetite because of _Rick's_ appetite. A lesser woman would have been worn out. I think I matched him in his hunger and lust. We fit together well.

I glance over at him while he drives to the location he was given the coordinates to. It's a rundown looking roadhouse, I recall. I passed it when I arrived here all those months ago. Rick says they have the best burgers in the county.

"You ready for this?" he asks, looking sideways at me.

"Yes," I reply. "Even though you'll be doin' all the talking, I'll need to gauge Negan, if it really _is_ him this time. Figure out a way in with him."

"What intel do y'all have on them?" he asks; I consider my answer. I tell the truth. He has as much riding on this as we do.

"Nothing on the leader; we know he runs his outfit like a cult," I explain. "He strips away individuality in his people. He demands loyalty through violence."

"That's a common thing for a lot of us," Rick offers. "The violence."

"Right," I reply. "Yet your people have worked for your family for a while now? You don't change up your personnel frequently?"

"Not unless necessary."

"Well, he takes new recruits all the time," I supply. "He has five lieutenants that we know of, and a whole cohort of foot soldiers around the area. They all pledge allegiance to him; they all call themselves Negan, but there is only one of him. What do _you_ know of him?"

"Started out in Virginia," Rick says. "He was on our radar a few years back, when I was still with the Sheriff's Department. Started branchin' out in our neck o' the woods. We weren't equipped to deal with it. But I was aware. My Daddy was aware. They could've been major customers, but Gene Grimes likes the familiar. He ain't into branchin' out."

"How did you know who to contact in their outfit?" I ask.

"Can't say," he replies. "Gotta keep CI's anonymous or else nothin' would get done."

I nod my head in agreement. I still haven't tapped my confidential informants as of yet. Grimes is smart. He knows how to work both sides of the law. I take in his profile while he drives.

"What else have you heard about him?" I press.

"He's a real piece of shit," Grimes relays. "Most of us, we kill someone because we have to. We want retribution. We need to keep our people in line. There's a peckin' order to it. You understand that."

"I do," I find myself saying.

"That day I beat the shit outta the guy who smuggles my stuff into the country," he reminds me. "I _had_ to do that to him. It wasn't personal, just business. It's about the money; it's about puttin' the fear into 'em. It's about gettin' that respect."

I listen to his deep drawl; his openness is welcome, though the chill of his words, and the frankness with which he speaks, I still find unsettling.

"This guy," he continues. "Not everyone who works for him _wants_ to work for him."

"How are you any different?" I find myself asking as we exit the highway and come to a stop at the eatery.

"Everyone who works for me _wants_ to be here," he answers. "Even Spencer, believe it or not. Even _you._ "

I feel my skin growing warm. I sense the change in the atmosphere. The air is thick. I lick my lips.

"I don't force anyone to be with me," he says, his tone dropping an octave. He reaches his hand down and places it on my leg. He rubs my inner thigh and holds my gaze. "You're here 'cause _you_ want to be."

I nod. I recall what he can do with his hands. "Yes," I say honestly. "I want to be here. I want to be with you."

He inches his hand along farther and I part my legs for him instinctively. He stops just when he reaches the meeting of my thighs. Slowly, teasingly, he extends his thumb, _just his thumb_ , and trails it over the scant fabric of my panties, traversing the entirely length of my slit. I shiver at the contact. I crave more. I feel myself becoming moist. He keeps his eyes trained on me; he leans close to my mouth, so close I can feel the heat of his breath, and then whispers, "Good, 'cause I _always_ want you."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I was, and still am disappointed with the MSF. I'm tired of SG and co. Anyways, thanks a bunch to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and added this story as a favourite; thanks to everyone for sending Asks on Tumblr. You make me smile so, so much. Alright, let's check in with our very Special Agent and the fire of her loins, Grimes.

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

The ride from the roadhouse takes almost thirty minutes; I keep checking my wristwatch as Michonne and I sit quietly in the van. The driver, a scrawny looking Savior, speaks incessantly with a plain-looking blonde woman. I wonder to myself if he's ever going to shut the hell up.

Michonne eyes them as well. She sits stoically. I can't help but think about what is going through her mind, presently. I imagine she has been in this type of situation before. I recall her case reports. I _know_ she has been in this type of situation before: Being taken from the rendezvous point to a secondary location to meet the kingpin. These little games we criminals play to convince ourselves we are more important than we really are.

I would not go this far to arrange a meeting; then again, I got caught. I guess Negan should be wary of us; we are here under false pretences. We are here to bring about his downfall. Michonne glances at me as the vehicle stops. The scrawny Savior turns to look at us, and offers a gap-toothed smile, before saying, "We're here."

 _Obviously, dipshit._

I scan the immediate area, and then slide the door of the van open. I climb out, then extend my hand to assist Michonne. She straightens her dress, and then follows behind me. We are at a deserted camping ground. The pair of Saviors lead us over to a shaded table that is just near the beginning of a rarely-used walking trail. The woman gestures for us to sit, and we do.

"Where's Negan?" I ask, irascibly.

"Listen, cowboy," says the man. "We're all Negan, but the guy you're waitin' on, he's gon' be here. You waited how long, now? A couple o' minutes more ain't gonna kill you."

I am losing my patience. I clench my jaw, wishing they had not taken my weapon when they took our phones. Suddenly, I feel Michonne's hand come to rest on my arm. I feel marginally calmer.

"Of course it's not," she offers coolly, charming a smile out of the man.

Before I can feel annoyed by him staring at Michonne, I hear the sound of a car approaching. Turning my head, I watch as it comes to a halt near the van. After a moment, a tall man with dark hair steps out. He is wearing a black leather jacket and dark pants; it his right hand, a barbed-wire-covered-baseball bat is hanging at his side. He's not dressed for the weather here; he really must be as crazy as they say he is. He offers a snide smirk as he comes closer to us. I stand up and keep my eyes trained on him. He looks me up and down, lifts his bat, and then points it at his employee.

"I hope to hell this fucker didn't talk your damn ears off about fuckin' nothing on the way over here," he says, before his eyes find Michonne. She stands and offers a polite smile. "Well, well. A real lady in our presence. Excuse my fuckin' French, Miss."

"I've heard worse," says Michonne, her chin tilted upwards. The leather-clad man chuckles and then grins.

"Have you now?" he asks, stepping closer. "That's fucking good to hear, damn good. I think we're all gonna get on like a house on fire."

He draws his gaze from Michonne, and then stares at me a moment; before ogling the woman beside me once again. He holds out his hand for hers in greeting, she glances sideways at me, then takes it. "Hello," he says, still holding her hand. "I'm Negan."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

"Sorry for bringing y'all out here, but we gotta be careful. Besides, Rick," says Negan, as he taps the wire-covered object, he somewhat affectionately refers to as Lucille, against his covered leg. "You didn't always bat for our team, did ya?"

"Not always," says Rick. "I don't hide that fact, either."

"No, sir, you don't," Negan replies. "Which is half o' the fuckin' reason I brought my ass out here to meet with you; the other half being I'm interested in what you have to offer."

"What do you need, exactly?" Rick asks pointedly.

"To start with, a dozen AK-47s," he replies; I make notes and begin calculations. "Untraceable, of course."

"Of course," says Rick.

"And throw in, I dunno, five Brno ZKW 465 Hornets."

"With scopes?" Rick asks.

"Yeah," Negan confirms. "Why the hell not?"

"We only accept cash for purchases," I state. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No problem from me," Negan replies as he eyes me. "I can get the funds."

"Good," says Rick. "I'll have one of my people arrange a drop, then let you know where you can collect your hardware."

"How much for my new toys?" Negan asks; Rick looks at me.

"For that quantity, you're looking at twenty-five thousand dollars," I say, glancing down at my notepad, as if I need to check the estimate.

"Holy shit!" he says animatedly. "That's a little more than I was fuckin' expecting. The Hornets or AKs bumpin' that price up?"

"The twenty-two calibre is decidedly much more expensive than the AK," I offer. "But, I think you know that, which is why you've ordered less."

He throws me an amused stare, before narrowing his eyes and saying, "Sure. I know that shit. But I also know a few other assholes who were selling the AKs for six-hundred a piece."

"That's because they got that shit from Afghanistan and it's all second-hand. You want your AK locking up because it's filled with desert sand?" I ask. I see Rick smirking in the corner of my eye. "Our products come in brand new from South America and are of a better quality. You pay for what you're getting."

I watch as Negan mulls over my words. "Okay, okay," he supplies. "You're right. But I still think you're overcharging me by a couple o' thousand."

"It covers our costs in getting your merchandise into the country," I explain. "It's not like we're importing fancy wine for your parents' fiftieth anniversary."

Negan laughs loudly, while Rick gives me a crooked smile.

"These are military grade firearms we're talking about," I remind him. "You're gonna wanna pay that little extra."

"You're damn right," Negan says. "I'm sold!"

I nod my head, and glance back at Rick. He looks pleased, even though the money will be logged into State's evidence.

"Good," I say.

"Good," Rick mirrors. "How we gonna do this? Do you have a preferred method?"

"I need to get my people to get the funds together, and then I'll contact you in a couple of days," Negan advises. "Then we can make the exchange."

"All right then," Rick replies as he stands. He and Negan shake hands. I get to my feet, close my notebook and drop it into my purse. I inch closer to Grimes. I feel Negan's eyes roam over my body.

"Hmm," he says while smirking in my direction. "Lucille thinks I should get me a gal like you."

I can feel Rick tense up beside me. "Oh, yeah? Is that so?"

Negan squints and looks at Grimes, before replying, "Sure. I need me a gal who can handle my finances…and other things."

Rick 's demeanor changes, I reach down and take hold of his hand in mine; Negan notices. There's an air of tension between us.

"I have a friend from college who might be able to help you out," I proffer, trying to defuse the situation.

"Appreciate the offer," says Negan, glancing between Rick and I. "But I think I'm good right now. Besides, I don't think anyone else comes close to you."

He ogles me once more, and I can literally feel the heat coming off of Rick's form; it's as if he is seething, but containing it well enough.

"And I don't think Rick here is the sharin' type," Negan adds, with a wry smile.

"You got that right," says Grimes. "I don't like to share.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _Prick!_

This asshole is really eyeing Michonne in front of me.

He knows she is mine.

If we did not have to honor this deal, I would break his fuckin' jaw.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Night has almost fallen by the time the Saviors drop us back at the roadside diner. They return our phones to us, as well as Rick's weapon, reiterate that someone will be in touch, and then drive away. I gesture for Rick to hand his phone and car keys over to me; he does so, but not before throwing me a questioning look. I take the devices to his car, place them in the glove compartment, and then return to where he is standing.

"I'll check to see if they've been bugged later," I offer. "But now, we're gonna try those burgers you've been raving about."

…..

"How long have you lived here?" I ask, wiping the ketchup from the corner of my mouth.

"You haven't read my file?" he queries, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Sure," I answer. "Of course I have, but there are things I want to know about you that I think are just better to ask about."

He nods his head, signalling that he understands what I am saying; I want to talk to him. He seems

receptive to that, eager, almost.

"My whole life," he offers. "Born and bred. I only moved away when I went to the Academy."

"You didn't want to be a metropolitan cop?" I query, sipping from my diet coke.

"No," says Rick. "Big city living was never my thing. I love this place too much, anyhow."

"It is a beautiful part of the country," I intone.

"Have you seen much of the country?" he asks, before taking a bite from his burger.

"Yeah," I nod.

"For work?" he queries further.

"Sure," I say. "Plus with family."

"Where are you from?" he suddenly questions.

"Grimes," I reprove. "You know I can't tell you that."

"I ain't askin' for details," he says, with a little laugh. "I don't wanna know your parents' names or anything like that."

I throw him a cautious look.

"I know Emm is from Atlanta, I just wanna know where Michonne is from. I just wanna know if you grew up in a place like this one," he adds; his eyes pierce mine, and I feel safe opening up to him.

"No, I come from a very different place, from different stock," I answer in earnest. "I never got to sit in roadside diners like this one, and eat burgers with guys like you."

"Guys like me, eh?" he drawls. His voice is so sexy; I shudder.

"Yeah, guys like you," I say with a slight smile; all he has to do is look at me and I come undone. Suddenly, the delicious food is not enough to quell my hunger. My mouth begins to water for _something else_. I lick my lip. "Guys who are nothing but trouble."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _Damn._

I'm trying to focus on what she is saying, but when she runs her tongue along the bottom of her lip like that, I lose my train of thought. We sit staring at one another, and I recall how her mouth felt wrapped around my cock.

I can feel it stirring in my jeans right now.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

"I wasn't always nothin' but trouble," Rick replies, teasingly, as he moves his plate to the side, and leans both arms on the tabletop. He holds my gaze and smirks. "But I got a feelin' you wouldn't have given me the time of day if I _wasn't_ trouble."

I lean back in my chair and toss my hair over my shoulder.

"You sayin' I got a thing for bad boys?" I press. He laughs and tilts his head to the side.

"Oh, I know for a _fact_ you got a thing for bad men like me," he states. "I think that Negan asshole knows that too, by the way he was flirting with you."

I scoff and stop myself from rolling my eyes. "Does that bother you?"

"Yeah," he admits, narrowing his eyes. "Not your little preference, but the way he was actin'."

"How was he acting?"

"Like he wanted to fuckin' eat you," he says evenly. "I can't say that I blame the gangly-lookin' prick, though."

I shake my head and chuckle at his observation.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he offers.

"Well, he should know that I don't have a thing for _all_ bad men," I say, leaning forward. I kick off my shoe, and then run my foot up his inner thigh; I can feel him growing hard as I rub my toes against his bulge. "I only have a thing for you."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _Fuck, Michonne._

I suck her neck as she grinds against me; the small space in my pick-up is muggy and hot. We're fully clothed, save for her missing panties and my jeans and boxers drawn down off my hips. The air is saturated with the scent of our sweat, and her sweet pussy. She slides up and down my dick quickly, as we both try to find our release in the parking lot of the roadhouse. She rubs her clit with her thumb, to get herself there quicker. I grip her ass tightly. She lets out a deep moan, wraps her arms around my shoulders, and comes over my raw cock. I feel her walls clenching me; her breath his hot.

" _Tell me when you're close_ ," she whispers in my ear, in between moans, still writhing on top of me; riding me harder as her orgasm courses through her.

" _Fuck_ , hold still," I demand, as I grab her hips and lift her off of me, just high enough so that the crown of my cock is still inside of her. Then, I begin to thrust upwards, while she rests on her knees.

 _Fuck. I'm gonna come._

I hold her in place and pump up into her. She holds herself steady, her hands gripping my shoulders tightly. I dig my fingers into her perfect, round ass and spread her cheeks as I drill her dripping little pussy.

 _Shit._

 _She feels so amazing._

I'm close. I'm… _fuck._

I lift her upwards and draw my hips down to the seat, as my cock slips from her sex and cum squirts out of the tip; it runs down my shaft as I continue to curse.

 _Ah, shit._

Michonne reaches down and strokes up and down my length, before she pays attention to my throbbing head. My cum drips onto her hand as she milks me dry. I press my lips to hers and moan into her mouth as the last of my seed spills.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I should be more careful, letting Rick go in raw like this. I'm using contraceptives, and his pull-out game is strong, but you can't be too careful.

 _Don't be stupid,_ I remind myself. _Not this time around._

I search for my discarded panties on the floor of his truck. I cannot find them. I take our phones from the glove compartment and slip them into my purse. I turn to look at him, wondering why we have stopped at the front of the main house, instead of around the back. He looks listless, yet serious. His damp curls framing his handsome face. I offer him a quizzical stare.

"Join me in the shower?" I ask, with a devilish grin; the corner of his lips turn up into a crooked smirk.

"I'd love to," he says. "But, I gotta be somewhere."

"At this time of the night?" I ask, wondering what could be so important that he needed to leave.

"Yes," he answers. "I have to meet up with Abraham in town."

I lean back and fold my arms; I knit my brow.

"Abraham? Really?"

"Yes," he supplies. "Really. We gotta take care of a few things."

"Well, I'm coming with you…"

"No," he says firmly. "I need you to stay here."

"Rick…"

"Don't fight me on this one," he replies. "Go and wash up. I'll be back later, okay?"

I exhale loudly and shake my head. I grab my purse and move to exit the vehicle. He takes hold of my arm and repeats, " _Okay_?"

"Okay." He reaches up and cups my face, as he draws me nearer and kisses my lips.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The brightness of the floodlight is almost blinding when I switch it on. Milton Mamet is stunned; he narrows his eyes and tosses his head about, as if he can shake the torturous luminescence away.

"Help me, please," he whispers hoarsely, not realizing that I am his captor, not his savior.

"I'm not here to help you," I reply. "I'm here for answers."

He coughs, "Water, please."

I sigh and then uncap the plastic bottle that I have brought with me. I approach my prisoner, hold the bottle over his tilted head, and pour the liquid into his open mouth. He sputters and coughs some more after I give him too much. After a moment, he regains his composure; his eyes adjust, and he stares at me.

"What do you want from me, Grimes?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"Philip Blake," I offer in response. "You know where he is, now I need you to tell me."

"I don't know where he is…"

"Stop fucking lying!" I shout, tossing the water bottle to the wall. I pull out a hunting knife, and hold it to Mamet's throat. "Now tell me where he is."

"You let me see your face," says Mamet. "I already know who you are. I know your friend, Morgan Jones. There's no way you're going to let me live. Why should I help you?"

"You don't have to help me," I say, staring into his eyes and pressing the blade harder against his neck. "But since you're certain I'm gonna put you in the ground, you may as well speak. Go to your grave with a clear conscience."

"Men like us don't get to _have_ clear consciences," he spits, the sweat beading on his red face.

"Maybe so," I retort. "But you're not entirely like me, how I am now. You're not like Blake. You were brought into this by him. _I_ was brought into this by him; when he killed my wife and my little girl. Don't let him get away with this, while you lie rotting in some backwoods down in Georgia. Tell me what you know. I'll get retribution for all of us; for you, too."

I draw the knife away from his throat, and then sit back in my chair, facing him directly. He seems to be contemplating what I just said. After a moment of silence, I see his chest rise and fall as he inhales deeply. He closes his eyes for a second, and then stares straight at me. The sweat rolls down the side of his face.

"Okay," he whispers finally, gesturing for me to move closer. " _Okay_. I'll tell you."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

My skin feels cool and clean after my shower. I am wearing my robe; I finish brushing my teeth and then crawl into bed. I see Rick's phone sitting on the night stand next to mine; it has not been bugged, and neither has mine. I pick it up and turn it over in my hands; curiosity gets the better of me. I swipe my finger across the screen. It is passcode protected. I consider what numerical code he might be using. I surmise it might be a date that is important to him.

I check my tablet for the files on Grimes, in particular, the dossier regarding his family. I find his wife's date-of-birth, and key in the day and numerical value of the month. It is incorrect. I sigh, and then key in his _own_ date-of-birth; that sequence does not grant me access to the device. I scroll through my records once again until I come across the file on Grimes' daughter. I type in her birthday. Success. The device is now unlocked.

I check his call log first. Seems standard. Calls to Abraham, Spencer, Tyreese, Deanna Monroe, and me. There are several missed calls from a number that is not saved; some as recent as forty-five minutes ago. I debate with myself whether or not I should check his voicemail, but decide against it. Instead, I check his text messages.

There are a number of messages that he has yet to read. Several from the unsaved number. Upon closer scrutiny, I can see that the number is one of Grimes' former flings. Most likely the clingy blonde. She asks over and over why is he ignoring her; why won't he return her calls; who's the bitch he was with. Then there are some explicit pictures of her nude reflection in a mirror. There are more explicit pictures of her shaven pussy. These have all been sent within the hour. I delete them on impulse, before reading the messages quickly.

For a moment, I wonder if that is where he is right now. With this woman? I shake my head, annoyed at Grimes for something he may or may not be doing; then at myself for caring. I understand why this woman can't quit Rick Grimes: I've never been dicked down so good in my life. That's not something some people can give up easily. I cannot blame her. Still, I am annoyed at the possibility of Rick skulking around to see her when he was not too long ago fucking me in his truck.

 _Michonne, get a grip._

I chide myself, and scroll through her messages. I feel kind of sorry for her. Grimes dropped her ass, and she's blowing up his phone. I notice he has not responded to her. I exit out of the thread. There's a message from his friend, Morgan Jones. I open it:

 _I hope you liked the gift. Tell me if you hear any developments. Was good seeing you._

Curious.

I don't recall Jones giving Rick anything at the dinner. Maybe it was when they caught up earlier. Either way, my inquisitive side is getting the better of me. There is not really anything else on his phone that I find of interest; there is nothing incriminating. I place it back to the side table.

I check the time. It is getting late. Grimes has not returned to the Farm, as I would have heard his truck by now if he had parked in the back of the grounds. I wonder if he is all right. Again, I wonder if her is with another woman. His phone begins to vibrate; it is that unsaved number. I think about answering. I give in and accept the call.

"Rick? Baby?"

"No," I say sternly. "It's not Rick, but it is his phone."

"Who is this?" she asks.

"None of your concern," I admonish. "Don't call this number again. Have a bit of pride; don't let him treat you like a fool. Do yourself a favor. He's not interested."

With that, I end the call, and then proceed to block the number. Satisfied with my efforts, I climb from off of my bed, and make my way into the main house. Only Grimes' security staff should be there at this hour. I am surprised to find Spencer in the kitchen, seated at the small table. He turns his head when I enter.

"Hey," I say softly, as I walk towards the large, stainless steel refrigerator.

"Hi," he replies; his eyes following me.

"Late snack," I explain, while retrieving a tub of yoghurt. Grimes does not like them, but he knows that I do and keeps the fridge stocked for me.

"Thought there'd be everything you needed out in the guest house," he stated.

"Not necessarily," I reply, taking a seat across from him. "How are you? I feel like we haven't spoken in a while."

"Well," he starts. "That's because your boyfriend doesn't like us being around one another."

I sigh loudly, and then lean back in the chair. He notices the change in my demeanor. He must know I find this song and dance tiresome.

"Can we _not_ do this right now?" I ask quietly, as I undo the top from the tub. "We both work for him; we play by his rules. I thought you understood that, Spence?"

"I do," he assures me. "Doesn't mean I'm not annoyed by it."

I nod my head and offer him a kind smile.

"I've missed you," he adds. "I _miss_ you."

The hopelessness in his eyes makes me honestly sad for him. I go to speak, when Grimes enters the kitchen. He is wearing different clothing from when I saw him last, around three hours ago; he seems fond of the brown shirt I let him borrow. He shoots Spencer and I and unimpressed look, and then walks to the fridge to retrieve a bottle of beer. Once he uncaps it with the edge of the benchtop and his hand, he ambles over to where we are seated. Leaning down, he presses a kiss to my temple, before taking up a seat. I study his profile; he studies Spencer.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

My head hurts. I don't have the energy to reprimand these two. Besides, I have nothing to worry about from Michonne. There's no way she is interested in this little boy sat across from me; with his sad eyes and adolescent pout. No wonder his mother sent him to work for me; he's pathetic.

I sip from my bottle, and then place my hand on Michonne's thigh; she's already looking at me when I turn to her. She's so beautiful. The thumping in my head lessens. I smile a genuine smile at her, and she responds in kind.

"Still here, Monroe?" I ask, not taking my eyes off of Michonne. I hear the chair scrape against the floor as he stands.

"Goodnight, Boss," he offers. "Goodnight, Emm."

"Night, Spence," she bids, while glancing at him briefly; I say nothing. Spencer leaves us alone.

I take another drink, and place the bottle down on the table; I shift the chair back marginally. I look at Michonne and then ask, "He missed you, uh?"

She holds her breath and then shrugs. I offer her a crooked, wry smile, and then tap my hand against my lap as I say, "C'mere."

She abandons the tub, and moves to sit on my lap. She straddles me; I give her ass a squeeze. She drapes her arms over my shoulders and we stare into one another's eyes, wordlessly. Her intensity matches mine. I feel my cock stirring.

" _I_ missed you," I say, finally breaking the silence.

She laughs, and then brings her lips close to mine. She lays a fleeting, chaste kiss on me, before whispering, "Liar."

She pulls away, and I grab the back of her neck; threading my fingers into her hair. I kiss her collarbone gently. My mouth is soft on her skin, a contrast to the way I am gripping her with my hands, roughly; tightly.

"I did," I promise against her searing flesh; I suck at her neck. "I missed you as soon as I was gone."

I snake my hand up under the fabric of her shorts; her ass is plump and perfect. I dig my nails in as I squeeze; I mark her skin. Her breath hitches. My cock is becoming engorged. She feels it growing against her center. She grinds against me; our gaze meets again. She brings her lips to mine once more; we share another innocent kiss. I slip my tongue out, trailing it slowly along her top lip; she draws away from me.

"Then why did you go?" she asks, in hushed tones. She really wants to know. I need her to leave this alone. Her breath is warm and inviting. She circles her hips, causing more friction against my erection. She's seductive in every way; she's trying to get this secret from me.

"I had to," I say, my breath is ragged.

She kisses my neck, rolls her hips, and then moans into my ear, "Fucking _liar._ "

I need to take charge before I fuck around and disclose everything to her. I grip her hips, and then lift her onto the table top. I pull her shorts down, strip them from her body, and then push her down until she is lying on her back.

"You got a smart mouth sometimes," I say, as I stand between her thighs and stare down at her. I rub my thumb over said aperture, then slip it between her lips. She sucks it. "Won't be so smart with my cock in it."

I see her eyes light up. She fuckin' loves it. I withdraw my thumb, and then massage it over her clit. She moans at the contact. My dick leaps in my jeans. I take her hand, and bring it to her pussy, gesturing for her to continuing the strokes while I free my hardness. I watch as she brushes her fingers over her clit.

 _Fuck. She's so fuckin' sexy._

I take my cock and then rub the shaft over her clit. I don't enter her, I just press down and rub until her juices coat my length. She writhes from the pressure of my thickness stroking up and down, and over and over her sweet little bud.

" _Fuck, Rick,"_ she breathes, widening her legs; she leans up on her elbows so she can watch my teasing.

Her pussy is so slippery. _So soft_. My big red tip is gleaming. I take it and trail it over her clit, then down to her opening. Slowly, I inch it in between her swollen lips. She whimpers as I impale her; her head rolls backwards.

" _Ah, yeah_ ," I breathe, as he swallows up my entire length with her hot little cunt. "I missed you so much."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I hope you've all had a nice holiday break. Thanks for reading and reviewing! It keeps me going. Thanks to those who reached out to me on Tumblr and helped to abate my concerns.

In response to **Nwfanmega** : What Rick has done to Milton could get other people in trouble, namely Morgan; he has good reason for keeping it under wraps. Michonne is not authorised to engage in illegal dealings outside of the parameters set by her CO. If she was to help Rick with what he has planned for Blake, the DOJ would pull her from the operation. However, I'm not going to say if any of this will actually happen or not! Hehehehe it's all possible!

This instalment has a slightly different feel to the previous ones; I think you'll be able to tell why. Sorry for the wait! Alright, let's check in.

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

 _She feels so fuckin' amazing._

We lie on our sides in my bed; her back is pressed against my chest. Her head, lying on my arm. Our sweat, intermingling; our breaths, heavy and labored. Her leg is hiked up, foot resting on my thigh, as I enter her from behind. She reaches back and threads her fingers through my curls, while I massage her aching clit with my finger.

My strokes are deep, hitting her spot. She moans each time I thrust forward. I bite into her shoulder as she clenches her walls around my cock. I know she's close. I know if I keep driving into her, she'll come for me. I don't want her to come just yet.

I withdraw my length, and take hold of it. I use my tip to rub over her nub. Her juices making my dick slippery; her little bud throbbing from my attentions. I tease her with the head of my cock, as I suck her neck.

" _Please_ ," she breathes, as I continue to torment her. "Don't stop."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

 _Shit. He's really gonna stop right now?_

I feel empty as soon as he slides his dick from inside of me. The intense sensation that was building each time he thrusts against my spot, subsides a little. I want to buck my hips forward, as he plays with my clit, but I know better; he's not done teasing me with the tip of his big, glistening length.

I feel the heat swirling at the pit of my stomach once more, as he continues massaging me.

"Please," I beg. "I want it."

He whispers close to my ear, "What do you want, baby?"

His deep, southern drawl sends a shiver through my core. It's almost enough to make me come.

"Hmmm," I moan. "I want your cock inside of me."

He stops what he is doing, relinquishes his hold on his sex, and takes my hand; guiding it down to where his hardness is quivering against my inner thigh. I grip his thickness; it feels hot, sticky, and heavy in my small hand. I stroke him a few times before bringing his dick to my eager, aching pussy. I slide him between my folds.

" _Ahhhh_ ," he lets out, as he fills me once more. He kisses my neck again, before he bites and sucks it. He does not thrust; instead, he leaves his sex inside of mine as he uses his finger to strum my clit once more. "You're so sexy."

"Hmmmm," whimper.

 _I'm close._

 _I just need him to…_

 _Oh, shit._

He thrusts into me a few times, then stops; he sucks my earlobe into his mouth, and then whispers, "Tell me what you want."

He pumps his engorged cock into my trembling pussy again.

" _Tell me_ ," he grunts, while rubbing my sensitive little nub harder.

 _Hmmmm yes._

I turn to face him; he captures my mouth in a rough kiss while he drives himself into my hot center.

 _I'm closer now._

I hold his gaze as whimpers escape my mouth. His eyes are fiery and commanding, as he impales me again and again, I feel my release ready to wash over me. I bite my lip, and stare into his eyes, and say, "Fuck me."

He smiles wickedly, the sweat beading at his temple. He kisses my jawline and drills me harder, faster.

"Is that what you want?" he asks, as he drives his dick into me relentlessly.

So hard.

 _Oh yes._

So fast.

 _Hmmmmm fuck._

He's so big.

 _I want it._

 _I want him._

 _I want him to know._

" _Yes_ ," I breathe.

 _Ohh, god._

"Tell me how you like it," he demands.

"Ahhhhh, _yes,"_ I moan, coming undone. "Just like that. Fuck me, Daddy. _Fuck me_."

…..

The warm dampness of my washcloth feels good as I clean between my legs. The scent of lavender soap is refreshing. My sex is still tender from Rick's attentions. Maybe it is a futile action, cleaning up, since I will be returning to his bedroom again soon. I told him I needed a moment, and that I would grab his phone for him from the guesthouse. He told me to hurry back; the night isn't over yet.

I finish my grooming, put my clothes back on, and then go to retrieve his mobile. I pick my own up first. There is a message from Glenn. It reads: _BOLO found driver of car hired by R. Espinosa is Morgan Jones. COP ATL. Locals stopped him today leaving KC._

I send a response: _Meet me tomorrow. Lunchtime at your spot. Something else is going on here. I'll figure it out._

I delete the message thread, grab Rick's phone, and then make my way inside the main house.

…..

He is lying where I left him; on his back in his bed, with not a shred of clothing on. The glow from the bedside lamp dancing over his form, causing the light sheen of sweat to shimmer against his pale skin. I realize that I am staring; he seems to have noticed, too. He looks pleased.

"Did you hack my phone and read my messages?" he asks, somewhat seriously.

I raise my eyebrows and grin, "I wouldn't call it hacking, but, yeah. You know I did."

"Find anything interesting?" he smirks, holding his hand out for the device; I pass it over to him, and remain standing. I place my hands on my hips, not knowing what to do with them now that they are empty.

"Not really. Well, except for that women sending nudes to you," I offer.

He laughs a little, and it fucking annoys me more than it should. I'm not amused by it; I can't see why he is.

"You delete 'em?"

"I blocked her number," I tell him earnestly; he looks half-impressed and half-surprised. "It deleted what she sent."

That's a lie, but I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing I got rid of them; the image of her coochie forever burned into my brain. I did the Lord's work, and Grimes a favor, in deleting them; I cringe inwardly.

"You can do that?" he asks, the corner of his mouth raised in a crooked smile.

"Of course, Rick," I say. "Don't have to be a Federal Agent with super spy skills, either. There's a feature on your phone."

"Smartass," he says as he beams brightly, causing his eyes to sparkle. It's nice. I'm not annoyed anymore.

"Or maybe you didn't want to block her," I tease. I am glad that the mood has lightened now that he is being playful; he shakes his head.

"You really don't believe me, eh?" he queries, a spirited glint in his eyes.

"About what?" I ask, biting my bottom lip as I stare down at him. I trail my gaze from his steely blue eyes, to his pink lips, to his red cock, and back up again.

"About me not wantin' anything to do with any other women," he says plainly; he is serious now.

I find myself shrugging, before I brace myself and steady my composure, hating that I feel vulnerable with him. He sits up slightly, reaches for my hand, and pulls me down on top of him; he then rolls me over so that his body is covering mine. I've grown accustomed to being pinned underneath of him.

"Believe me," he whispers in low tones, while brushing his hand over the side of my face. He is gentle; _soft_. A contrast to his rigidity currently growing against my thigh. His tenderness surprises me. I go to speak, but he silences me with a fleeting, chaste kiss, before continuing, "I don't want anyone but you."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The room is dark. It's late. I'm pulled from a dream as I wake with a start. I'm drenched in sweat. There's a throbbing in my temple. I remind myself that the screams aren't real. That the violent visions keeping me awake at night are not real.

 _She is real._

Her steady breathing, and faint snoring is real. I feel somewhat calmer knowing Michonne is deep in slumber beside me.

I reach out into the darkness; my hand touches her soft skin. I shift nearer to her, swathing my arm over her narrow waist. I pepper her bare shoulder with kisses; she stirs slightly, but does not wake. I burrow closer; my lips at her nape.

The scent of her shampoo, her gentle breathing, and the steady, even thrumming of her heart quiets me; lulls me.

 _I feel safe with her._

I close my eyes.

My headache goes away.

I fall asleep.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Daylight creeps into the bedroom. I blink several times as my eyes adjust to it. I can hear his deep breathing close to my ear; his arm is draped loosely over me. I am surprised I wasn't roused at the gesture; however, I muse that it was an active night for us. He must be spent; I know I am. I am still warm and moist between my legs; I still taste him on my lips. I need to make my way to the shower without waking him. Slowly, I lift his arm and place it behind me. He shifts, and then mumbles something, but continues to snore.

I carefully move my legs and then slip from under the covers; he remains asleep. Without giving it much thought, I stare down at him and smile. He looks so at ease; I have never seen him look so peaceful as he does right now. A stray curls falls out of place, and I have the strong urge to brush it away. I don't. I chide myself for even considering it.

I shake my head, draw my gaze away from his handsome face, and then tiptoe towards his shower. I stop at the door, open it slightly, but then go no farther; I glance back at Rick. He shifts in his sleep, his hand palming the empty place beside him where I was lying only moments ago. A garbled sound escapes his lips, followed by what sounds entirely too much like my name. I tell myself it wasn't, as I disappear behind the door.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"You goin' somewhere?" I ask, as Michonne steps into the kitchen. She's wearing dark jeans and a purple tank; her hair pulled back in a bun, and her dark sunglasses are sitting atop her head. She looks great in whatever she has on, as well as in various stages of undress; but I do love watching her in those tight-ass jeans.

"Yeah," she replies with a sweet smile. "Are you busy?"

I raise an eyebrow questioningly, "Always. Why d'you ask?"

"Well, I'm heading to town to grab some lunch," she explains. "If you're too busy, I'm sure Spence or someone will come with me."

She's baiting me. I scoff.

"No need for that," I proffer. "Gimme ten minutes. I'll meet you out the front."

…..

When we reach our destination, I glance over at Michonne sitting beside me in my truck.

"Really?" I ask, as I stare at the eatery she has chosen.

"What?" she retorts.

"Pizza, again?" I question. "I know this town ain't got much in the way of fancy restaurants, but Tobin could've whipped us up somethin' better than _pizza_."

"I happen to _like_ pizza, and they do a nice slice here," she answers, as she beams at me. "Besides, I don't need anything fancy; what you don't realize about me is that I'm a down-to-earth girl."

I offer her a genuine smile; there's something so intimately charming about her. A playfulness just underneath the façade; something that is _more than_ the Special Agent who's just doing her job. Something that those confidential files I have, locked away in my safe, don't tell about her. If we were each not stuck in this world, at polar ends, I imagine we could have been friends… _or more_. I wonder, a moment, what football team she likes; what music she listens to; what her favorite movie is; the name of the first boy to ever break her heart. She is already exiting the car when I gather my thoughts and focus on the present.

"Hold up," I say, ambling quickly toward her, before taking her hand in mine. I like the contact; the way her soft palm feels against my calloused one. I like the simplicity of the gesture; of having her close. I like to let people know she is mine, even if it's only for the time being.

We enter the establishment together; there are a few empty tables to choose from.

"Find us somewhere to sit," she says to me. "I'll order."

"Here," I say, offering her a one-hundred-dollar bill, before I do what she requests, and find us a place near a window. It's a good vantage point; I like to see who's coming and going. I take up a seat, and then look back to where Michonne is standing. She is being served by the young Asian guy who has made deliveries to the Farm. My phone rings.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

"Hey, it's good to see you again," I say amicably, in case someone is listening in; I am certain Negan still has his people tailing us.

"You too," Glenn replies. He hands the laminated menu over to me. "How are you?"

"I'm well. Work's good. Making some meaningful strides; meeting my targets. Hey, how are the girls?" I say, referring to State's Attorney Andrea Harrison and SSA Peletier.

"They're good," Glenn replies knowingly. "They'd love to see you; we're all catching up soon."

"I'd like that," I answer. "Send me the details and I'll be there."

I examine the list, before holding it out towards him and pointing to a random item.

"We'll take two slices of the meat lovers with a garden salad and a bowl of fries, please."

"No worries," says Glenn. "I can do that. Did you want drinks as well?"

"A Pepsi and Diet Coke would be great, thanks."

I hand over the money, and wait for the change and order docket. Glenn hands both to me with a smile. I turn and scan the room. I see Grimes near the window; he's on the phone. It looks serious. I hurry over to him, and catch the end of the conversation.

"Okay," he says, the hint of smile on his face now. "See you then. Thanks, bye."

He ends the call, places the phone in the top pocket of his shirt, and offers me an agreeable smile.

"Who was that?" I ask, while handing his change over to him.

"Deanna Monroe," he answers, to my slight astonishment.

"Really? What did she want?"

"She invited me to her place in Virginia this weekend," he explains.

"Okay," I proffer. "For what?"

"A business meeting, of sorts," he says. "She likes to entertain at these types o' things, make a weekend of it. We've got some things that need discussing; us, and others. A few different outfits will be there."

"I hope you told her you'll be bringing me along," I say evenly.

"Yeah," he replies. "I want you there with me. I gave her your alias; she'll most likely be runnin' a background check right now. I'm lookin' forward to it, to be honest."

"What?" I ask, with a smirk. "Your Annual Organized Crime Retreat? Where you share money laundering tips, and give TED talks about the best way to strongarm some poor schmuck?"

He snorts at my assessment of the impromptu gathering I had no intel about, before leaning back in his seat

"Nah," he says, with a flirtatious gleam in his eyes. "I'm looking forward to a weekend getaway with you."

…..

"I won't be too long," I say to Rick as he drops me at the rendezvous point; a beauty shop on main street.

"Call when you're ready," he says, before leaning over and offering me a languid kiss. It is unnecessary. There's no one else in the car with us. No one can see us. I guess he has an inkling we're still being watched by Negan's people; at least that's what I tell myself as I breathlessly break the kiss.

I have been advised by my handler to enter the front of the establishment, and then meet my superior and the State's Attorney around the back. I pretend I need to use the restroom before my scheduled appointment, and then exit through back. I see a dark SUV parked there; I know they are here for me. I approach the vehicle and then climb into the backseat.

"Agent Bourdain," says SSA Peletier in greeting. "Good to see you. Let's cut to the chase, shall we? You made contact with Negan?"

"Yes, ma'am," I reply. "He is willing to make a purchase from Grimes. We are waiting to hear from his people once he has secured the funds."

"Do you expect to meet with him again, to close the deal?" asks Ms. Harrison.

"I can't really say," I admit. "He was happy to make a purchase. I assume he will want to inspect the merchandise before making final payments, but that wasn't discussed at the initial meeting; he advised us that he'd be in touch."

"Did he mention what he wants the weapons for? What can you tell us about him?" asks SSA Peletier.

"He did not say why he needed them. I don't recognize him from any of the suspects we've had from the Saviors surveillance," I explain. "He's done well to keep himself out of the business arrangements so far. I think it was the prospect of meeting Grimes that brought him out."

"How so?" asks Harrison.

"The intrigue of it all," I say. "Meeting the man who used to be on the other side of the tracks; who used to be a LEO. These guys, they're all fascinated by Grimes. They want to get a look at him."

"Understandable. And how did he relate to you?" asks Peletier. "You were introduced as Grimes' girlfriend or accountant?"

"Both," I relay. "And he was a little pompous; he was blatantly flirtatious with me in spite of our cover."

"Interesting," my superior officer offers. "We should use it to our advantage."

"Ma'am?" I ask, already knowing what she has in mind.

"Honeypot," she states plainly. "Just like you did for the Mike Anthony case."

"Okay," I say, startled by the mention of his name; taking it all in. "If Negan even takes the bait…"

"Well, you'd better do your best to make sure he does," says Peletier. "You've got all the _charms_ , Bourdain; work them to your advantage. Get close to him."

"All right, but for all intents and purposes, I'm with Grimes. How's that going to play out? His people think we're really together; we have a deal with him…"

"He got us to Negan," Harrison interjected. "That was the deal. You can get us the rest of the way."

"This seems messy…"

"You're good at messy, Michonne," says Carol. "This is what you do. Get close to Negan, do it behind Grimes' back if you have to; but make sure you get to him."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

She's quiet on our way back to the Farm. My gaze finds her as I wait for the security gates to open and let us in.

"You sure you're okay?" I ask once more.

"Yeah," she replies. "Bikini waxes are never much fun. Sorry if I'm not so talkative."

"Anything I can do to help you feel better?" I ask, snaking my hand up her sleek, smooth thigh while visualizing her freshly-groomed pussy. My cock quivers. She covers my hand with hers, ceasing my movements.

"I think you'd better give me some time to recover," she says with a smile. I nod my head and continue driving.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

 _Shit._

The good ol' honeypot ploy.

Rick is _not_ going to like this.

Not at all.

Hell, I don't even like it.

Oh, well.

It is my job.

 _Shit._

…..

It's strangely intimate, I vaguely muse, as Rick parts my lips with his tongue and deepens the kiss. We are in his dimly lit bedroom, clad in our undergarments, sharing tender, slow kisses. My hand is resting on his bare chest as he is lying flat on his back; I lean over him and relish in the feeling of his skilful mouth against mine.

After all of the sex we've been having; after all of the states of ecstasy and pleasure he has invoked in me, the simple act of kissing him makes me feel intoxicated and thrilled; slightly, though unwittingly, enamored. His gentle attentions; the softness of his touch; the way he draws back and stares into my eyes. It's causing me to feel more shaken, and at the same time, fulfilled, than when he is writhing on top of me.

I pull away from him a little, and hold his gaze; he brings his hand to the side of my face and searches my eyes.

"God," he whispers, running his thumb over my bottom lip. "You're beautiful, Michonne; you know that, right?"

I don't know how to respond. I feel my stomach flutter as I bring my head to rest on his chest; I can't take his piercing eyes boring into mine anymore. He strokes my hair before he presses a kiss to the top of my head. Gently, he trails his fingers up and down my arm, and then brings his hand to mine; he interlocks our fingers, and lets out a deep sigh, before saying, "You're so beautiful."


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing the last chapter. I can safely say that the Crime Boss Rick Thirst Brigade has been one of the best parts of 2017 for me. I appreciate each and every one of you. Naw, people are so worried about protecting Rick's heart! Bless you all. Okay, some familiar characters show up in this instalment, and we learn some things about Rick.

* * *

 _Michonne's POV_

The drive took around three hours; it is almost midday. Spencer and I chatted some of the way; Rick didn't have too much to say. He sent his driver to fetch me gummi bears at one of the gas stations along the highway, remembering my sweet tooth and penchant for candy. I shared them with him, and it made him smile. Now, as we reach our destination, his face is serious and stern once more.

The home of Deanna Monroe is stately; white walls, large windows, and a high roof. Immaculately kept gardens surround it. As we pass the large iron gates, and make our way up the long driveway, I wonder what it is exactly that this woman does. The Bureau has a file on her, one which SSA Peletier forwarded to me. She has been under investigation before for extortion and corruption, but nothing seems to stick. I've heard rumors that she has everyone from judges to Senators in her pocket. Her son was right: She is a powerful person. Speaking of Spencer, he seems skittish, so I ask how he is coping; Rick rolls his eyes.

"I'm okay," he answers. "Just feels weird being back here."

"You grew up here, right?" I query. Rick sighs tiredly beside me, but does not interrupt us.

"I grew up in a lot of places," Spencer admits, somewhat solemnly. "Boarding schools; boot camps; my grandparents' ranch. This house feels like the place I'd only come to at Christmas, ya know?"

"Sure," I answer. "I guess I can relate. My parents were always busy. My Dad was caught up in the life, so he travelled a lot. I never felt connected to anywhere."

I feel Rick's eyes on me; what I am saying about my parents is about _Emm's_ parents, though, somehow, he can tell the last part is true for me. The sense of discontent I have felt my whole life.

"Yeah," says Spencer. "That's how I feel; like I'm not connected to anyone, or have real relationships with…"

"She's not your fuckin' therapist, Monroe," Rick finally interjects. "Remember that."

"Rick it's okay…"

"You're not here to work," Rick reminds him, ignoring what I have said in Spencer's defense. "But if Emm needs anything while I'm busy, make sure she gets it. You got that?"

"Yes, Boss," he answers. "I understand."

"Good," Rick states. "Now, enough oversharin' your emotions, we've got a long couple o' days ahead of us. Stay in your Mama's good books, and out of her way, and you'll be okay."

"Of course, Boss," Spencer says; I give Rick a smile and take hold of his hand. He's not being a complete asshole to his driver today. It makes me wonder what kind of a mother Deanna Monroe is if Rick is giving Spencer pity and advice.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"This is a really nice room," says Michonne as she does a quick sweep. There are no surveillance devices in the large bedroom we have been assigned, but we agreed beforehand not to discuss anything that could blow her cover. This weekend, she is Emm around the clock; I have to remember not to call out _Michonne_ when she's fucking my brains out later.

"Nice big bed," I say, as I flop down on it and throw her a devilish look.

"We won't have time," she says, offhandedly; knowing exactly what my look means. "You'll be busy with your crime lording."

"Is that a thing?" I ask amusedly. "Or did you just make that up?"

Michonne shrugs, "It could be a thing."

She saunters over to where I am sitting, takes a seat beside me, and speaks again.

"Either way," she offers. "You'll be busy."

She's challenging me; she wants to fuck me in this fancy fuckin' four poster bed as badly as I want to fuck her.

"Well, I'll make time for you," I say in hushed tones; I shift closer to her and slip my hand up her dress. Her pantyhose hindering my access to sweetness between her thighs. I make a mental note to tear the offending garment from her body later.

Before I get carried away, there comes a knocking at the door. I groan as Michonne goes to answer it; a young woman greets her, and then me.

"Mrs. Monroe would like everyone to meet in the garden for refreshments," she says. "If you could make your way out in around twenty minutes, that'd be great."

"Of course," Michonne replies courteously. "Thank you."

She closes the door and turns to face me; her eyes wide with surprise when she notices me standing close to her. I reach my hand around and give her ass a squeeze before pressing my lips to her neck.

"Rick…" she protests weakly, as I slip my hand up under her skirt and into her pantyhose. "We don't have time."

I step around so that my growing erection is pressed against her ass; I keep my hand in her panties, and shift her hair so I can kiss her neck from behind. I love that she's always ready for me; wet and eager. She whimpers as I slip a finger inside her tight little pussy.

"Rick…"

"Shhhh," I urge, as I pump my finger in and out slowly. "We've got twenty minutes."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

The backyard is stunning. There's well-manicured lawns; a number of colourful flowerbeds; and a large water-feature in the center of a quaint pond. There's a marquee set up near the pond; staff dressed in matching outfits are serving drinks and supervising the buffet lunch. A number of small, round tables are set under the marquee, as well as around the garden.

Rick and I walk hand-in-hand down the paved garden path, and make our way toward the large white tent. Some people are lined up, waiting to get their food, while others are already eating. Rick greets a few of them by name; offering nods and handshakes. Even when we are hailed, and then stop, he keeps a possessive hand on me.

"Where'd you want to sit?" he asks me, his hand pressed to the small of my back.

"By the water looks nice," I reply; he throws a smile in my direction, nods his head, and then goes to join the line.

I search the immediate area, surprised at the number of children here with their criminal parents. I don't recognize anyone, and our hostess has yet to appear and offer an official welcome. I'm not actually sure of how any of this is supposed to work. It feels wholly strange; Rick seems to know what he is doing. I watch as he chats with a woman in the buffet line; I squint and focus on them. I think it's Deanna Monroe.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"I'm glad to see that you made it," Deanna says as the line shifts slowly. "Where's that son of mine?"

I offer her an amicable smile, "He's around here somewhere."

"And your lady friend?"

"She's over by the pond," I say while gesturing to where Michonne is sitting; I begin to dish up food for us.

"Oh, she's a real looker," Deanna remarks. "I'll say a few words and come over and meet her soon."

I nod my head, and then take the plates over to where Michonne is waiting for me. Just as I lay the food down on the small table, Deanna's voice booms over the PA system.

"Hello, everyone," she starts. "And welcome. It's good to see so many familiar faces, as well as a few new ones. This afternoon's itinerary consists of lunch, followed by a group meeting with the Heads of each organization. Other guests are welcome to use the gym or sauna, or go swimming in the pool. If you need anything, or have any questions, my staff are on hand to help. I have to ask that you please keep to the designated areas. Our group meeting will start in one hour; we'll convene in my board room in the main house. Now, enjoy your lunch. Thank you all."

"It's so formal," Michonne says, as a waiter brings drinks to us; she seems impressed. "How many of these have you been to?"

"Around four or five, since I took over," I answer. "But my Daddy used to bring us when we were kids. I didn't understand what it was all about then, until I got older and realized he was into some heavy shit."

"So, you've known Deanna Monroe for a while now?" she queries, picking food from my plate.

"All of my life," I answer. "Our families have always been close. I think she was even having an affair with my father at one point."

"Really?" asks Michonne, surprised by my admission. "How did they meet one another?"

"She comes from old money," I say. "And was lookin' to make investments. She basically reached out to my Daddy and funded his operations. That's how she's been able to maintain interest in what we do; giving loans to family friends, and taking a cut."

"Right, so, the monthly fees for 'consultation services' go to her?"

"You got it," I answer.

"And having Spencer work for you, what's that really all about?" Michonne questions, in hushed tones.

"Toughen him up, I guess," I relay. "Plus, our families have history; she trusts me to show him the ways of this world. He's got a lot to learn about what it takes to make a living this way."

"And if it gets him killed?" Michonne asks, as she knit her brow and leans on the table.

"Occupational hazard," I answer wryly.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

This shit is unreal.

 _Seriously._

It's kind of unbelievable. To the outside world, it's an annual gathering of family friends who share business interests, but on the inside, it's one woman taking stock of her investments in organized crime. To hear Rick tell it, she built this empire using her family's money. Numerous outfits turn a profit from illegal dealings, she takes a cut, but keeps her name off of anything official. And all of these outfits, the Grimes Family included, can offer her something to keep her stranglehold on the domain, whether it is in the form of weapons, or murder-for-hire. It's actually kind of impressive.

Rick and I continue eating as the woman in question approaches us; I go to stand.

"Please, stay seated," she offers, with her hand extended; I take hers in mine in greeting. "I'm Deanna; you must be Emm?"

"Yes," I say. "Emm Pearson. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise," she replies with a friendly smile. "I'm sorry to have to steal Rick away from you for the afternoon, but please make yourself at home."

"Thank you," I say, returning her smile. "I will."

"Enjoy the rest of your meal," she says sincerely. "Rick, I'll see you in the boardroom soon."

Rick nods his head, "All right."

We watch as she walks over to another couple and makes small talk. I don't say anything.

"So, you figured out what you're gonna do while I'm tied up in meetings?" he queries, running his fingers through his hair; the sunlight reflects in his eyes. I am momentarily distracted.

"Sorry?"

"This afternoon," he says. "What are you gonna do to occupy your time?"

"Snoop around outside of the designated areas…"

" _Hey_ ," he warns.

"I'm kidding," I say, tossing a cocktail onion in his direction; he catches it and pops it in his mouth. "I'll go back to the room and wait for you."

"Yeah?" he asks; his tone and expression changes.

"Hmmm, _maybe,_ " I reply teasingly.

I feel his hand on my leg. He gives it a squeeze before replying, "You better be."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The boardroom looks the same as always. Deanna is at the head of the large mahogany table; the high-backed chair set vast against her tiny frame. She pours herself a glass of water, clears her throat, and then gets down to business.

"I've got everyone's earnings reports here," she starts. "Thanks for getting them to me at such short notice. It looks like you're all doing well; that's what I like to see. I think we'll begin with any news or issues you'd like to raise. Jadis, would you like to start?"

All eyes turn to the tall woman sitting to Deanna's left; her organization's cover is 'waste management' – in reality, she makes most of her money from providing murder-for-hire services, beginning at twenty-thousand dollars per job. Jadis nods her head and begins to speak. We come to find out that she has branched out using the dark net, and business has quadrupled; this seems to please Deanna. It makes me cringe. I've never taken killing someone lightly. Sure, if it has to be done, then it has to be done; I would much rather handle my own business than to pay someone else to do it for me. If I want someone dead, I'm going to fuckin' kill them myself.

Deanna goes around the table, and everyone gives her an update. I'm not surprised to learn that Gregory needs more funding; he's such a piss poor boss. His people don't respect him, and fiscally, he's a wasteful prick who spends too much money on hookers. He's a coward, as well; I don't care for him at all.

The only news I have is my dealings with Negan. This piques the interest of a few of the people at the table, especially our mutual benefactor, Deanna; I refrained from telling her my plans as they are linked to my secret deal.

"Have you met Negan?" she asks; I nod my head.

Yes," I say. "At first, it was his Lieutenants, then it was him. He's not an easy man to get in contact with."

"No," she replies. "He isn't. What's the nature of your arrangement?"

"He's got something big planned, needs the firepower to back it up," I explain.

"That's what I've heard, too," Deanna says. "Be careful with him, Rick; he's not like us. He doesn't live by the same rules we do; he isn't loyal to _anyone_."

"What else do you know about him?" I ask.

"He has one hell of a Messiah complex," she explains. "He'd tear this whole world down only to rebuild it in a way that suits him and his delusions of grandeur. Like I said, be careful; I'm sure the Feds are trying to get to him. Watch your back. I'd hate for you, any of you, to be on their radar."

"I'll be careful," I promise, even though I am the one who set a lot of this in motion; Deanna doesn't need to know that, though.

We take a short break before the rest of the meeting continues: Strategic planning and branching out in the future. I check the time on my wristwatch and wonder what Michonne is doing.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

"There's nothing better than an open bar, am I right?" I ask as I sip from my cocktail; Spencer nods his head and clinks his glass together with mine. The beverage has me in high spirits.

"Deanna was always good at throwing a party," he slurs. He seems to be a little more buzzed than I am. I suspect he started drinking a lot earlier.

"Have you caught up with your mom yet, Spence?" I query, genuinely concerned about him.

"Yeah," he answers. "For five minutes when we got here."

"You weren't invited to the meetings?"

"Hell no," he replies. "I'm not heading up a lucrative criminal enterprise, so I'm not important enough."

"Spence…"

"It's okay, Emm," he says, placing his hand on mine briefly, before thinking better of it. "I know where I stand with her. I'm just trying to stay in her good books and hope she doesn't write me out of her will. I'd be surprised if she didn't leave everything to Rick, to be honest."

I give Spencer a dubious look.

"But Rick does get everything he wants, doesn't he?"

I remain silent as he continues.

"You know, he likes people to think that he chose to be a cop, even though he grew up in this life, out of some altruism and to be better than, and different to, our parents, but that's not true."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"My mother is his mentor, she said it would good for him to go into law enforcement, so he did," Spencer downs his drink. "She said he could manipulate the system to suit him. And he did. He went from a respected Sheriff's Deputy to a Crime Boss and no one even batted an eyelid. It worked out for him, regardless of which life he chose."

"He lost a lot, too, Spence," I say, feeling the urge to defend Rick in his absence. "He's been through a lot."

"Right. Poor Rick Grimes. Widower, driven to a life of crime out of tragedy? He fit right in here…"

"Yeah, but he still lost his family," I retort. "He's not innocent, but he still suffered losses."

"Sure, I get that; and maybe before he _did_ have kindness in him. But that died with Lori and their kid. You really think he's not heartless, now, Emm? Take a look around. All of the people here are making a living off of other people's suffering, no matter which way you look at it; people who have a conscience don't look to get mixed up in this lifestyle. They don't _like_ this lifestyle."

"Well what does it say about us then?" I question.

"I was born into it," he says as he stands. "So I have an excuse, but you, I don't even know. Maybe you're just as messed up as Rick is. Maybe you lost something, too."

He offers me a sympathetic look, turns, and makes his way back to the bar. Suddenly, I don't feel as jovial as I did a moment ago as I let Spencer's words sink in.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I am more than happy to go back to our room and devour Michonne, but dinner's being served out in the garden. I had just enough time after the meetings concluded to take a shower and freshen up. Now, as I'm watching her sitting in front of the mirror, Michonne is busy pinning her hair in this elaborate up-do. She has changed her clothing, as well; her short black dress looks like it is painted on. I won't have to worry about pantyhose getting in my way later.

"You get up to much while I was gone?" I ask, tucking my shirt into my dress pants; Deanna requires her guests to be dressed formally at her dinners. After she is finished meeting with her illegitimate business partners, she invites her legitimate friends and colleagues to join the party. I really think she enjoys blurring the lines a little; maybe that is where I learned it from.

"Had some drinks with Spencer," she answers, checking her reflection, before standing and facing me; I raise my eyebrows.

"Oh, really?" I ask.

"Yeah, really," she answers, walking closer to me. "He's the only person I know here, Rick."

"I know," I proffer. "But I haven't forgotten his little crush on you."

She closes the distance between us, and begins to fasten my tie in place.

"You worried he's gonna steal me away from you?" she asks, resting her hands on my chest.

"Impossible," I say with an amused chuckle; I wrap my arms around her waist. "You're mine, I'm yours, for right now, and no one is coming between us."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

It's been in the back of my mind since my CO advised me about the Negan honeypot ploy. Whatever this is between Grimes and I, he honestly thinks we're exclusive. Is he actually out of his mind? Is he that delusional?

 _Shit._

Maybe I'm the one being delusional. I can admit it that I don't want him being with other women, just as much as he doesn't like me even talking to other men. It's fucked up; but it is how it is. However, I cannot lose sight of what I am really here for: To bring Negan down.

I honestly thought I wouldn't have to be screwing anyone anymore to close a case. It was part of my training; a skillset of mine. It was expected of me; but I thought that was behind me. With Grimes, the screwing just happened; I didn't know I was going to fall into bed with him. To my bosses, our relationship is a farce. They're not going to find out about the true nature of it. They'd have my ass out of here quicker than you can say _his stroke game is strong._ What I'm doing is wrong. Grimes is not the target anymore; I don't need to be fucking him, but I am.

With Mike, things were different. I'm not even ready to process that right now.

 _Damn it._

What they want me to do with Negan is going to stir up trouble. I don't know if I should tell Rick about my new orders. Hell, I don't even know if I'm going to _follow_ my new orders. I just need to get my mind off of it for a while, maybe the rest of the weekend. I just…

"Hey, you okay?" Rick draws me from my thoughts.

"Yeah," I answer. "I'm fine. You good?"

"Yeah," he drawls, downing the remainder of his whiskey and placing the empty glass down on one of the strategically placed tables. It is absolutely beautiful out in Deanna's garden tonight. She has three high school kids playing chamber music on a small dais; fairy lights are speckled through the trees, and small fire pits add extra light to the area. It's charming; it's nice. I feel so removed from the stresses that engulf my life. Now, in this moment, standing in front of a man who is concerned about if I am okay, I kind of feel normal.

"I wanna get out of this damn suit, though," he adds with a smirk. "Get you outta that dress."

I cannot help but smile at his insatiable nature. I want exactly what he wants.

"Well, let's call it a night, then," I say, reaching for his jacket's lapel.

As we are about to leave, a tall woman with an interesting haircut moves toward us.

"Leaving soon, Rick?" she asks.

"Was a long day," he replies.

"Missed seeing you; been too many days since I saw you last," she says, not paying me any mind.

"It's been a while," he nods.

"Yours?" she queries, gesturing toward me.

"Yes," Rick replies. "She's my woman."

I give the odd person a questioning stare; she turns her attentions to me.

"I'll lay with him after you're done," she states, like she hasn't an ounce of sense in her head. "Do you care?"

 _Bitch?_

 _Do I care?_

 _Lord, give me strength…_

I narrow my eyes, tilt my head, and step forward.

"Listen," I say, loud enough for the three of us to hear, low enough so that we don't draw attention. "I don't know you, but let's get one thing clear; no one, and I do mean _no one,_ is gonna be laying with Rick but me, okay? So, you need to take your thirsty, trashy ass away from me and my man before I forget my fucking manners, and throw you face-first into that pond with the rest of the scum."

With that, I take Rick by the hand and lead him away back up the garden path.

….

 _Rick's POV_

My dick is so fuckin' hard right now.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

We make it to the bedroom, and as soon as we're inside the door, Rick is on me. Hurriedly, I draw his jacket from him, and then fumble with his tie; he is busy ripping my panties from me as he kisses and bites my skin. I undo his belt and zipper; he steps out of his trousers and walks me backwards to the bed. Before we reach the bed, I pull away from him. He eyes me, hungrily, but stops and waits.

"Lay down," I say seductively. "Let me take care of you."

He smirks at me, lets his shirt fall to the floor, and then does as I ask; he lies on his back in the middle of the large mattress. I can see his arousal pressed against his boxer shorts, but I ignore it. I climb on to the bed next to him, and trail slow kisses down his chest, and abdomen. Stopping just below his navel, I reach my hand into his shorts. My pussy starts to pulse when I touch his hard dick. I grip him firmly, and stroke him a few times.

"Hmmmm. Is that for me?" I whisper.

He grunts some kind of response as I hasten my movements. I stop a moment, to draw his shorts down; he writhes until he is able to kick them off. Now, as he lies here completely naked, with his erection standing rigidly, I straddle him. My ass is on his chest, my back to him; I lean down, and with one long lick, run my tongue up the length of his big cock.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _Fuck._

 _Hmmmm._

She wraps her lips around my tip, while placing her hand at the base of my dick. My eyes roll shut as she takes as much of my length into her mouth as she can, while working her hand up and down the rest. Her lips feel so soft and warm. She makes a slurping sound that drives me fucking wild, as she lets my wet cock slip from out of her mouth, and sucks the sides of my shaft; she rubs her thumb over my tip while she works up and down my length with her lips and tongue.

She inches her ass backwards; I can feel her naked sex on my chest. I open my eyes and I am blessed by the sight of her perfectly round ass and pretty pussy. I grip her hips and drag her closer to my face. My hands rest of her backside as I see the beginnings of her arousal dripping from her slit.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I know he's watching. I grind my hips for him, before sucking his head into my mouth once more. I run my tongue over his tip; I can already taste the precum dripping from him. I ball my hand up over the crown of his glistening, red sex, and then spit where my palm is gripping him. I rub my saliva down over his thick shaft, and into his head; making his rock hard dick nice and wet.

"Fuck," he breathes, while I tug at him; I slip his cock back into my moist, eager mouth, and continue to suck him off.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _God._

My eyes roll shut again, momentarily.

 _Jesus._

She's good at this; I don't even try to stifle my moans as she laps at my engorged, throbbing prick. I hike her dress up over her hips and massage her ass, before running my thumb over her delicious little opening. She's sopping. I trace my finger over her slit, before parting her lips. She's so sweet, and soft. I slide two fingers inside of her.

 _Damn. She is so wet._

Her pussy is drenching my fingers, just like her mouth is soaking my cock.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

 _Hmmmmmm_

I moan against his dick as he finger-fucks me. I grind my clit against his chest; the friction relieving the aching between my legs. Suddenly, he withdraws his fingers, and drags me closer to his face. I stop my attentions a moment when he presses his mouth to my sex; he laps his tongue from my clit, up to my ass.

 _God; Rick._

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I lick her pussy a few more times, before I tell her to shift. I grab hold of her waist and then kneel behind her. She leans down on her forearms and waits. I slap her ass twice, before drawing her backwards onto my dick.

 _Ahhhhhhhh_

I don't move, I just hold her in place. She knows what I want.

"Hmmm, baby," I breathe, squeezing her ass. "Take this dick."

She starts to push her hips back so that she is doing all the work; I watch as my length disappears inside of her, and then reappears, coated in her juices. Her ass bounces each time she rocks back onto my erection; she moans louder as she rolls her hips faster.

"Ooh, Rick," she mewls, as she turns her head to look back at me. "Oh, fuck."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

 _Ahhhhhhhhh_

 _Oh_

 _Ohhhhhh_

 _Fuck_

 _FUCK_

 _…_ _.._

 _Rick's POV_

I can't take this much longer; I need to be in control _now_. I press both hands down roughly into the small of her back, and then I start to thrust. I ram my cock into her over and over, I set a hurried pace, grunting as I fuck her hard. Soon, she starts creaming on my dick as her walls tighten around me.

 _Shit_

She's almost there.

 _Oh, yeah_

She's coming.

 _Hmmmmm_

She calls my name as she reaches her climax.

 _Fuck_

I don't think I can…

 _Ah ahhhhhh_

I can't…

 _Hmmmmmm fuck_

I…I'm gonna

 _Oh, shit!_

"Fuck, Michonne," I say loudly, as I come inside of her. "Oh, god; _Michonne."_


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I have to address something re the Guest Reviewer who said Michonne doesn't respect her body. Firstly, I am not trying to be rude or defensive; I just want to understand something, and offer some insight. Here goes:

Michonne is an undercover agent who has _seemingly_ infiltrated a crime syndicate before as a honeypot (I haven't elaborated on anything yet). This is her job; she apparently (because I haven't even explained it yet) used seduction as an undercover operative. Is that the disrespecting her body you're talking about? I mean, the only person she has had sex scenes with in this story hitherto has been Rick. So, I'm interested to know _how_ is she disrespecting her body right now? She hasn't enacted the current honeypot directive; the audience knows NOTHING about the Mike Anthony case. It is all subtext and suggestion until I explore it explicitly.

I'm actually kind of perturbed, to be honest. Women are constantly held to higher standards than men, even in our fanfiction, and I am over of it. Respectability politics and all of that comes into play, even in a **sexually explicit DarkFic about a female undercover agent**. I mean, Rick has slept with more people than Michonne has in this story, yet Michonne doesn't respect her body? Why?

I appreciate that you've read it thus far, but this story will be difficult for anyone with a narrow view on women's sexual agency and choices, specifically as it pertains to work. I hope you can understand what I am saying here. I'm not trying to chide you for feeling how you feel, because your voice is valid, I'm just trying to be transparent with the nature of this fic. Michonne is going to do things the reader doesn't agree with; as will Rick. He has actually done much more morally questionable stuff than she has, but he's #BigDaddyRick and she's…#WTFMichonne? and #StayClassyMichonne

Often, even in transformative works, such a fanfiction, where we have the opportunity to write progressive narratives, women are still held to a higher standard than men, and not given the chance to display as much moral ambiguity as their male counterparts. **I want Michonne to be as morally ambiguous as Rick in this, and not have to subscribe to notions that she doesn't care or respect herself for doing what she has to do.**

Anyways, I hope you can see where Michonne is coming from in this universe. Thanks for the feedback. I appreciate you reading and reviewing. I hope addressing this here doesn't alienate me from readers, and cause people to stop reading this story. That's always a fear, isn't it? But I have to defend Michonne; I will always defend Michonne.

Okay, let's find out what these sexy motherfuckers are doing :)

* * *

 _Michonne's POV_

I am so caught up in my own pleasure washing over me, that I almost miss the fact that Rick has come inside of me. He curses once more, and then withdraws his dick.

"Fuck," he says as he collapses beside me on the bed. I roll to my side and glance over at him; he rubs the tip of his sex and milks the rest of his seed that did not spill inside of me. The sticky fluid squirts out in a steady stream from his tip, and trickles down his hand.

"Fuck," he repeats, before closing his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay," I answer, fighting to catch my breath, and growing aroused again at the sight of Rick stroking his big thick cock. "We don't have anything to worry about."

He opens his eyes, and looks at me. My gaze is on his dick, and he notices. A smirk plays on his features.

"You want more o' this?" he asks; his voice low and husky.

I return his smile, before suck my index and middle fingers into my mouth, spread my legs, and bring them to my well-fucked little pussy.

"Yes, Daddy," I mewl. I then proceed to rub my clit. I feel his cum drip from inside of me and run down my leg. He watches; his eyes fiery.

"Fuck," he whispers. "I'm gonna need a minute."

I slide my fingers into my hot center, before moaning, "Hmmmm, don't take too long."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I fuckin' love this view of her as she straddles me and rolls her hips while she grinds on top of me. She feels so good when she clenches her walls around my hardness. Her hands pressed to my chest to steady herself while she slides her pussy up and down my erection. I grip her ass and spread her cheeks apart as she takes my entire length. She leans down and kisses me; I thrust upwards into her as our lips and tongues come together.

"Hmmm, _Rick_ ," she moans into my mouth as I stay ramming into her. After a moment, I sit up, and wrap my arms around her waist; she drapes hers over my shoulders. Our chests are pressed together, and she continues to ride me; I bite her collarbone before kissing it. I bring my mouth to her breast, and suck one of her stiff little nipples, swirling my tongue over it. She grabs hold of my arms, digging her nails in, as her head rolls backwards while she persists with her grinding.

I bring one hand up to grip the back of her neck; I draw her face closer, so I can watch her pleasured expressions. Each time she rolls her hips forwards, her mouth falls open like an _o_.

"Oh," she whimpers, each time she moves her hips, sliding up and down my cock. I kiss her lips once more and then stare into her eyes while she rides me.

I lean back onto one elbow, bend my knee, and plant my foot. I thrust upwards hurriedly a few times, and am met with her cries of, "Ooh, shit."

She still holds my gaze as I drive my hard cock up into her tightness; she kneels and waits for me to impale her over and over again.

 _Ahhhhhhhhhhh_ we fit together perfectly.

"Oh, yes," she cries as I pump into her once more; she rubs her clit furiously. I shift her hand to afford myself a better view. I entwine our finger and keep thrusting upwards.

"You like that, baby?" I ask her, as I watch her hot little cunt lips swallow my big, veiny cock. I don't wait for her to answer, before I roll her onto her back and capture her mouth with mine. I am still inside of her as we share a kiss. After we part slightly, I rest the back of her head on my forearm, keep my lips close to hers, and start thrusting into her sweet pussy harder and harder and faster and faster. She digs her nails into my back and wraps her legs around my hips.

 _…_ _.._

 _Michonne's POV_

 _Oh, fuck._

"You like that?" he asks me again; his breath his hot on my mouth. We've never been this close before. His eyes pierce mine, more intensely than his thick cock is filling me right now.

 _Hmmmmm_ is all I can manage as he hits my spot.

"Say it," he demands, as he fills me again and yet again.

" _Ooh, yes,_ " I whimper. "Just like that. _Ahhh, ah, ohh. Just like that."_

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _"_ _Ohhh, Michonne,"_ I whisper before I kiss her again. Our lips are still touching as we breathe into each other's mouths. " _Oh, baby. Ohhhhhh, fuck._ "

I close my eyes and hasten my thrusts.

"Ohhh, ohhhhh," she responds, urging me to fuck her harder. "Ahh, ah, ah, shit, Rick. Hmmmmm yes."

We kiss once more; I want to enjoy it, so I slow my strokes. I lift one of her legs and then push my sex into hers deeper, before withdrawing it slowly. I do this a few more times as we share unhurried kisses; I enjoy the feeling of her fingers in my hair almost as much as I love her womanhood wrapped around my dick. We break our kiss, and then stare into each other's eyes.

 _Fuck._ She is so fucking beautiful.

I thrust deeper before quickening my pace; she blesses me with a loud moan.

"Oh, yes, Rick," she cries; I drive my cock into her. "Fuck me."

I bite my lip and breathe, "Hmmmmm."

She's so wet; my hardness slips in and out of her. My cock is drenched from her juices.

"Oooh, yes," she cries. "Fuck me, harder. Hmmmm. _Harder, Rick."_

 _Shit._

My cock quivers and throbs each time she calls my name.

 _Fuck._

I ram it into her with more fervor; I grunt with each thrust. Low, animalistic.

 _Uhhh, uhh, ahhhhhhh._

….

 _Michonne's POV_

 _Oh, god._

I've never been with anyone like this by anyone before. He holds my face and stares into my eyes while he fucks me. His eyes look dark with desire, and the hint of something else.

 _Ahhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhhhhh_

I can't look away. He owns me. Fuck, I'm his. I keep crying out his name as he hits my spot over and over.

 _Ohhhhhhhhh_

With each thrust, he stakes his claim, drawing me nearer to my climax.

 _Hmmmmmmmmm_

My eyes roll shut as I come; I breathe against his lips as he kisses me once more. His lips never leave mine, even when he finds his own intense release. Our bodies remain melded together; breathless and panting; drenched in sweat; and dripping with his seed, and the nectars of my desire.

…..

It's quiet and dark. My skin still feels flushed, and my legs, weak; though I have cleaned between my thighs, I am still tender from his attentions. His breathing is steady, as he cradles me in arm; my head resting on his shoulder and my palm pressed to his chest. It's quiet. It's dark. I speak.

"Rick?" I ask into the darkness.

"Hm?" he answers tiredly.

"Was it weird for you to come here as a kid?" he takes a deep breath and strokes his thumb down my bare back.

"Kinda, at first," he replies. "But I got used to it."

"When was your first visit?" I press. "Do you remember?"

"Sure," he offers. "I must've been eight or something like that. My Daddy didn't have anyone to watch after me and my brother while he was gone, so he brought us along."

"Where was your mom?"

"She passed away when we were younger," he relays. I notice the slight change in his voice; it grows softer. "I remember a little bit about her, but not much. I know my father loved her, and after she was gone, something inside of him died, too."

"I'm sorry," I say sincerely; he gives my arm a squeeze and continues talking.

"The first time we came here, I thought it was just some fancy ass place for my father's friends," he recalls. "There were nannies to look after us; food and toys to keep us occupied. It was like a real vacation away from King County."

"How often did you make the trip?"

"Twice a year, maybe," he states. "Me and my brother got to share a room together, and it was like stayin' in a hotel."

"I can believe that," I offer, thinking about how luxurious the rooms are.

"And there was even fuckin' room service," Rick said, a laugh rumbling through his chest. "If we wanted anything, we called down to the kitchen, and someone would bring it up to us."

"Do you think we could do that right now? Order room service?" I ask playfully.

"Damn, woman," he starts. "You still hungry? I thought I fed you well not too long ago."

I slap his chest, "Whatever."

"What?"

"It's not like you didn't just eat my entire ass, Grimes," I retort; he laughs again, his hand finding my backside.

"Hmmm," he lets out.

"I'm serious," I say, bringing the conversation back to more innocent topics. "Could we get room service here now?"

"I don't reckon so, darlin'," he responds naturally; I smile at his term of address. "I think Deanna's kitchen staff might be off the clock now."

"True," I proffer, as I nuzzle closer to him. He presses a kiss to my brow.

"How about tomorrow mornin', I get you some breakfast and you can eat it in bed?" he asks, bringing his hand back to my arm and stroking it softly. "How does that sound?"

"Sounds great," I say with a smile.

"All right, then," he offers. "We should get some sleep."

"Okay," I answer, running my thumb over his chest.

"C'mere," he says. "Gimme a kiss."

I lift my head, and then find his lips with mine. He cups my face; the kiss is slow and deep. When we draw apart, I miss the sensation right away. I move back to how I was just a moment ago, with my head resting against him.

"Goodnight," I whisper, trying desperately to ignore the fluttering in my stomach.

"Night, beautiful," he whispers, making the fluttering stronger.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The first rays of the new day fill the room with light, as I watch Michonne deep in slumber. She looks so peaceful when she's sleeping. She always looks amazing, but when she is like this, breathing softly and dreaming, she is angelic. I let my eyes roam over her beautiful face; her long lashes pressed lightly against her cheeks. Her smooth skin glowing in early morning sunlight. She is immaculate. I could stay like this, taking in every inch of her perfection, forever. I would love to have this image of her to awaken to each day for the rest of my existence. Though, the time being will suffice. I sigh loudly, and she stirs. She blinks a rapidly, then focusses on me sitting next to her on the bed.

"Hey," she greets, stretching out and yawning.

"Mornin'," I reply.

"What time is it?" she asks.

"A little past six," I answer. "I got you this."

I pick up the tray of fruit, toast, croissants, cheese, and muesli that is sitting on the nightstand, and place it next to her. She graces me with a radiant smile.

"Thank you," she says. "This is great."

She sits up in the bed; the covers fall away, but she does not hide her nakedness. Instead, she reaches for a strawberry and places it in her mouth. Then, she asks for me to pass her a shirt; I find mine and hand it to her. She pulls it on and I admire her. My clothing looks good on her. She rolls up the sleeves and gives me an adorable stare.

"You want some?" she asks, gesturing to the tray.

"I can't stay," I admit finally. "I promised to have breakfast with Deanna."

She pouts; she is beyond adorable. I brush her hair from her face.

"I don't want to leave you and all o' this food," I say earnestly. "But I've got a job to do."

"I know," she replies, before picking up another strawberry. "Here."

She holds the piece of fruit to my lips, and I take a bite of it. She holds what is left of it there until I finish it off. I suck her fingers into my mouth for good measure. I need to leave now before she makes me late for my breakfast meeting.

"I won't be too long," I say, before taking her hand and kissing her knuckles.

"I'll be waiting," she says with a smile.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

There is a small, private room that is joined to the main dining room. Deanna and I sit there, drinking coffee, and eating toasted baguette slices. We are the only two people in there, once her waiting staff retreat. This is the only time we've had together without someone nearby; we can speak freely. I can tell by the solemn expression she is wearing that this breakfast is not just for the two of us to catch-up, without interruptions. Deanna needs something from me, and she is about to make her request.

"Gregory," she starts. "He's costing me money."

"He's a jackass," I relay, taking another sip of my beverage.

"An expensive jackass," she adds. "I need to let him go."

I know what she is implying; she wants him dead.

"Have you found someone to break the news to him?" I ask, referring to a contract killer. "Jadis, maybe?"

"No," she replies. "I don't want any of my other employees to know; it breeds distrust, and we can't have distrust in this business."

I nod my head; I know what she is going to ask.

"I trust you more than anyone else, Rick," she offers, with a gentle smile that negates the severity of what we are discussing. "That's why I'd like for your people to handle this for me."

"You want me to do it? Or someone who works for me?" I query.

"Whatever is easiest," she answers. "Whatever gets it done quickly, with nothing being linked back to me."

"All right," I offer, as I lean back in my chair. "I'll take care of it."

"Great," she says jovially. "Thank you. Now, let's not talk about business anymore. That gorgeous girlfriend of yours, where is she?"

"I brought her breakfast in bed," I reply, unable to keep the smile, that talk of Michonne elicits, from my face.

"Oh, so you're spoiling her?" Deanna chuckles.

"Maybe," I answer. "But she's worth it."

Deanna drinks a little of her coffee, and then tilts her head, before asking, "And does she know?"

"Know what?" I ask, unsure of what my mother-figure is talking about.

She gives me a crooked smile, and then asks, "Does she know that you're in love with her?"

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Rick is taking longer than I thought he would, so I've showered and left the room. I figure a walk around the grounds is in order; I can get some snooping done without Grimes to chide me over it. I pass a few of the other guests on my way to the staircase, including that ill-mannered toad from last night. She offers me a wry smirk, and I want to slap it from her face, but simply raise my eyebrow, and walk past her. I do not have the energy for anyone's nonsense today. Grimes just has to get through the budget meetings, and we can leave this alternate reality.

I still have yet to decide what I'm going to do, regarding Negan, when we return to King County. I should tell Rick, but I'm not sure how he will handle the news. He's possessive, and that is half of what draws me to him, if I am being completely honest. But, I have to get this job done. Maybe I am stalling. Maybe I want to keep living out this fantasy-life with him.

I sigh loudly as I descend the stairs. A few more guests greet me amicably while going about their business. I assume the other meetings will begin soon. I wonder where Rick is, as I glance over at a passageway that is blocked off by a red rope attached to two bollards. Checking the foyer to ensure that I am alone, I make my way toward the rope, and quickly step behind it.

The long corridor is dimly lit, as I amble hastily down it. It leads away from the sitting room, and is obviously _not_ a designated area. I come to the middle of the vestibule, and find an open door. I look over my shoulder, and then down each end of the hallway; once I am satisfied that no one is there, I slip into the room.

I find a light switch, and turn it on; immediately, I can see that the room is a study. Many books are stacked high on a large bookcase; a heavy desk sits toward the back wall; several leather chairs are placed strategically; there is a whiskey decanter and two glasses atop a nice, wooden cabinet; a safe; a filing cabinet; and a laptop are there; as well as several photographs adorning the wall. This must be Deanna Monroe's office.

I close the door carefully behind me, and begin to look around. The room has the faint scent of her expensive Versace perfume. For some reason, I am drawn to the photographs on the wall. There's a very stiff looking family portrait with whom I assume to be her late husband, herself, and a young Spencer. Their smiles don't reach their eyes. I notice another picture of Spencer at his high school graduation; except for some stubble and a goatee, he looks the same now as he did back then.

I slowly examine more of the keepsakes. Farther along the wall, I come to a frame that contains a number of different photographs. I lean forward to get a better look at the smaller images, and realize that the photos are of Grimes. There's one of him and his brother, much like the one that hangs in his father's office at the Farm; there's another of him at his high school graduation, and then at his induction into the police academy, followed by numerous shots of him in his Deputy's uniform. I knit my brow. Rick is like family to this woman; Rick _is_ family to this woman.

As I let this realization sink in, I hear footfalls from the other side of the door. Keeping calm, I make my way quickly and quietly to the door, standing so that if it opens, I will be concealed behind it. I wait, breathing slowly, evenly, for the person to pass. When I cannot hear anymore noise from the corridor, I open the door, and then step out; hurriedly, I make my way back to the lobby. Just as I shift from behind the bollards, Rick and Deanna step into the foyer from the passageway that leads to the dining area.

I give them a friendly smile, and then go to Rick's side. He wraps his arm around my back. I greet Deanna.

"Good morning," I say amicably.

"Good morning, dear," she replies. "Sorry to keep him from you. Did you enjoy your breakfast in bed?"

I am surprised she knows that; I do well to hide it.

"Yes, thank you," I offer. "Your kitchen staff are talented."

"They are," she answers. "Tobin, Rick's chef, was one of mine. I let him go to King County for a month a little while ago, and he didn't want to come back."

"Oh, really? He's fantastic, isn't he?" I reply with a grin.

"Nothing but the best for Rick," she states, maintaining eye contact with me, until she glances at Rick; the two of them share a knowing smile. "But, I have to take my leave now; Emm, it was good to see you. Help yourself to anything you like; Rick, I'll see you in the boardroom in thirty."

"Thank you," I say, as we watch the slight woman disappear down the hallway, and head toward her office.

I pull away from Rick, and shoot him a dubious stare. I need to get more information from him about their relationship. She is one of the most important players in all of this; some intel on her could be useful in the future. I cannot just ask him outright, as I still don't know how close they really are; I have to make him _want_ to divulge information about his mentor.

"I waited for you," I say, folding my arms; feigning irritation, but not having to fake it too much since I _did_ wait for him. He steps closer to me, and places his hands on my shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he says softly. "I couldn't say _no_ to her."

I shrug, and back away from him, before saying, "Okay, well I'll see you later."

He looks unimpressed; he looks annoyed.

"Emm," he says. "What's the problem?"

"It's fine," I relay. "Do your thing."

He sighs, and then steps forward.

"I wanted to be with you," he whispers, standing close to me, but keeping his hands to himself. "But I'm busy…"

"I get it," I say, averting my gaze. "It's not like I was waiting for you or anything."

I chance a glance at him; his irritation has reared its head. I don't want to manipulate him like this, to be a nag, but it is a means to an end. He sighs loudly, narrows his eyes, and tilts his head.

"I can't just blow off Deanna so we can spend the mornin' in bed," he snaps. "I got other things to do besides fuckin' you."

Wow. That pisses me off for real. I roll my eyes, "It's cool. You don't have to explain yourself to me."

I take a few steps backwards, and then turn and head for the exit.

"Emm?" he calls after me; I keep walking. "Emm!"

His voice booms loudly in the scarcely furnished atrium; this time, I stop. Immediately, I feel him standing close behind me, as he wraps his arm around my waist. He leans in close to my ear, and says, "Don't fuckin' walk away from me."

I turn my head and reply, "Don't fucking leave me hangin' like that."

I struggle to break free from his grasp; he grips me tighter, before shifting my hair and kissing my neck. My legs are weak. I feel my irritation dissipate. I have him where I need him to be: Wanting to please me. His tongue and lips lap at my skin as I grind my ass into him discreetly. He moans in my ear, before saying, "I wanted to be with you this morning, but I gotta handle my business. Okay?"

"Okay," I answer.

"After I do what I need to do," he offers. "I'll come to you, all right?"

"All right."

He turns me around slowly and then presses his lips to mine. I throw my arms over his shoulders and melt into him. We draw apart and he places his forehead against mine, before he continues to speak.

"I don't like it when you're upset with me," he admits.

"I don't like it when you exclude me," I counter; he pulls away and stares into my eyes.

"That's not what I was doin'," he offers.

"Then why couldn't I join you?" I query.

He sighs loudly, "I can't explain everything right now."

"Can we talk about it later?" I ask, giving him a pleading look; I bite my bottom lip and bat my eyelids. His expression softens.

"Yes," he promises, as he tucks my hair behind my ear. "We'll talk about it later."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _Shit._

She looks at me with those big, brown eyes and I fuckin' crumble.

I suppose I should tell her what's going on. She's not going to like it, but I have immunity and there's nothing she can do to stop me.

Well, maybe there is.

Who am I kidding, of course she could stop me.

Hell, she wouldn't even have to use force or her badge or a gun. All it would take is one simple request, and I would do whatever she wanted. She could have her wish with just four simple words: _Please Rick, for me._


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Thanks for sticking with me!

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

My mentor looks concerned as she paces near the desk in her office. Our meetings have concluded, and people have started to leave. I need one more moment alone with her before Michonne and I return home. I have just told Deanna about the information I recently acquired.

"And you trust what Milton Mamet says?" she questions, stopping to hold my gaze.

"They were his dying words," I reply. "I don't see what lying to me could have possible done for him. He had no reason _not_ to tell me."

"All right," she responds. "And what is this woman's name?"

"Lilly Chambler," I offer. "He said if I find this Lilly Chambler, I'll find Philip Blake."

"And then what will you do?" she asks.

I cross my arms over my chest, and stare down at the floor, before saying calmly, "Kill 'em both."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Thank goodness, this weekend is over; I don't think I could spend another moment here. Spencer and I wait out front for Rick and Deanna. All of her other guests have gone, and we are the last to depart. I lean against the car, next to Spencer; he looks as tired as I feel.

"You okay?" I ask; he turns his head slightly.

"Yeah," he replies. "Just want to leave already. Did you have fun?"

"Not really," I answer. "Rick was preoccupied with business; you were hungover. It was kind of shitty."

My assessment elicits a laugh from him. I smile.

"Sorry 'bout that," he offers, looking straight at me.

"It's okay," I reply, placing my hand on his upper arm. "I forgive you."

He goes to say something else, but stops, as his mother and Grimes exit the front door and make their way down the steps. Deanna beams brightly at us; she walks over to me. I remove my hand from her son's arm.

"Emm," she starts. "I'm sorry we didn't get to spend a lot of time together, but I wanted to thank you for coming."

"Thank you for having me," I respond courteously.

"If you need anything at all," she continues. "You let me know."

I nod my head politely.

"And take care of this one for me," she adds, gesturing to Rick. "I'm glad he found you; he's lucky."

"I will," I respond, before glancing at Grimes. "And trust me, I'm the lucky one."

Deanna seems pleased. She shifts closer and holds her arms out; I step into her embrace. Grimes watches us, and looks happy. Deanna then goes to hug Spencer; it is brief, and there are few words exchanged between them. Lastly, she and Rick encircle one another. She whispers something close to his ear, and he nods his head.

After we say our farewells, we pile into the car and begin our journey home. Rick looks at me, offers a smile, and then takes hold of my hand. He seems in good spirits. Maybe this little getaway has been good for him. Maybe he will be understanding when I tell him about what my boss wants me to do with Negan.

…..

It is not a particularly long drive, but the steady motion of the car speeding down the highway makes me feel sleepy, in spite of the brightness of the day. I look over at Rick. He stares out the window. He seems at ease. I feel the sudden need to be close to him. I unclasp my seatbelt and slide over to him. He glances at me, and then smiles. He looks at me adoringly and I can feel my heart swelling. I don't even try to fight it, this feeling of contentment. Instead, I lean in and kiss his lips. A warmth spreads through my chest when he smiles at me once more. I nuzzle closer to him, and rest my head on his shoulder.

"Hold up," he says, before reaching over and drawing the middle seatbelt over me, and clasping the buckle. "I gotta keep you safe."

He kisses my brow, and I lean against him, as he places his hand to my knee. Soon thereafter, I drift off into sleep.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

We've been back for less than an hour, and I've just received a message from one of Negan's people: He wants to check out some of the merchandise. There's an old outdoors shooting range a few miles south of here that hasn't been in use for years. I told them we should meet there. It's going to happen tomorrow. That's sooner than I would have liked, but it is what it is.

I pour some more whiskey into my glass, and lean back in my Daddy's chair. I want to go to Michonne and explain a few things to her, but I have to inform my people of what is happening. I also need to make some urgent arrangements.

I hear the sound of someone's footfalls on the hardwood floor. They are coming toward the study. I down the whiskey in one gulp, and look to the door. It's Michonne. She leans against the doorjamb and offers me a small smile; I grin back at her.

"You busy?" she asks.

"Always," I answer, pouring more liquor into the cup. "Just gotta sort a few things out here, and then we can get some dinner."

"Anything I can help you with?" she queries, stepping into the room and sauntering over to me; she takes up a seat on the desktop, crosses her legs, and smiles down at me.

"Nah," I reply. "I think I got it covered. We can talk later; clear the air about some things."

"I'd like that," she replies.

I place my hand to her thigh.

"I really don't like it when you're upset with me," I admit.

"I know."

"And I want to be as open with you as I can," I reveal, surprising myself a little. "So, we'll talk about it later."

"Okay," she says, taking the glass from my hand, and drinking from it. She then threads her fingers through my hair before adding, "Don't make me wait too long."

…..

The smell of cigar smoke wafts through the study. There's something about that scent, coupled with old, worn leather that is reminiscent of an archaic gentlemen's social club. Right now, inside of my father's office, myself and my associates could be mistaken for members of such a club; but we aren't. We're criminals. Tyreese and Abraham are seated in front of me, and Michonne is nowhere in sight.

"I'll do it, Boss," says Abe. "You won't even have to pay me; I'll off that motherfucker for free, and you can give what you would've paid me to charity. I can't stand him and his ratface."

"Nah, I got it," says Ty. "I hate that prick, too."

"It's okay, fellas," I offer, laughing at their enthusiasm to end Gregory's life. "I'll do him, I just need one o' y'all to drive up and snatch him tonight, while the other comes with me to take the merchandise to the Saviors tomorrow."

"I'll grab him," Abraham offers first. "Ty can ride out with you. Where'd you want me to take him? The cabin?"

"Nah, bring him to the range," I instruct.

"Boss? You sure?" Abe questions.

"Yeah," I answer. "We're gonna end up testing the guns; might as well shoot someone while we're at it."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

"So much for dinner and a talk," I say, while Rick and I lie naked in each other's embrace, regaining our composure in the afterglow of more mind-blowing sex. His head is resting on my bare chest; his fingers entwined with mine.

"Hey, at least one of us ate," he offers; I feel him smile against my skin, pleased with himself for his little joke. I take my free hand and stroke his mess of damp curls.

"Hmmm," I reply. "And you are good at it, too."

He shifts, so that he is propped up on his elbow, looking down at me; his hand resting on my tummy, his foot rubbing against mine. He doesn't say anything in response to my teasing. He just stares into my eyes, before planting a chaste kiss on my lips. He then brings his hand to my face, and strokes his thumb gently down my cheek. His eyes remain locked on mine.

"What're you thinking?" I whisper, needing to break the silence; feeling vulnerable under his gaze.

He takes his index finger and slowly traces it down the bridge of my nose; I find myself closing my eyes and holding my breath. He continues the motion, until he reaches my lips, followed by my chin. He then presses his finger back to my mouth, before kissing me there again.

"I'm thinkin'," he says, before kissing my chin. "That you…"

He kisses my nose.

"…Are _the_ _most_ …"

His lips meet mine.

"… _Beautiful_ woman I've ever seen."

I offer him a smile that is wide and genuine; he cups my face.

"I love…" he falters slightly, but continues. "I love everything about you."

We kiss once more; it is soft, fleeting.

"I love every inch of you," he whispers, close to my lips, as his hand trails southward, and rests at meeting of my thighs. He brings his mouth to my neck. I feel his erection growing again, pressed against my warm skin. He rubs my already engorged lips; my juices coating his fingers. I can barely form a coherent thought when Rick Grimes touches me.

He peppers his teasing kisses between my breasts, and down to my navel, before he positions himself between my legs. He strokes his length until it is set hard. I wait, spreadeagled and dripping, for him to enter me. He dips his head and captures my mouth with his once more; this time, the kiss is deepened by his tongue lapping at mine. He bites my bottom lip, and then pulls away slightly, just far enough so he can watch how my expression changes when he pushes his manhood into me. His large crown slips between my slick folds first; my breath hitches. Next, he inches himself slowly inside, while holding my gaze.

" _Oh, Rick,_ " I murmur as he fills me; I grasp his strong back, digging my nails into his flesh, as I steel myself for what is to come. His first thrusts are deep and unhurried. He stares into my eyes and rocks on top of me. He thrusts again and again, more quickly this time, while kissing my jawline. He grunts with each movement, as he sucks the skin at my neck.

"I love how good you feel _,_ " he whispers in my ear. "You feel _so good,_ Michonne _._ I love _…God, you feel so good."_

 _….._

 _Rick's POV_

 _God._

 _I love her._

 _I'm gone._

 _I am so in love with her._

 _….._

 _Michonne's POV_

I can hear his heart beating, as I rest my head on his chest. I feel safe and warm. He strokes my hair, and kisses the top of my head. I cannot help the feeling that is flowing through me. I know what it means; I have felt it once before. I am falling, deeper and more quickly; I am falling for him. And I know, from the way he is holding me close; from his gentle caresses, to that look in his eyes, that he cares about me, too.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The shooting range is nothing more than an abandoned plot of land around eighteen miles outside of town. It was once used by people who were learning to shoot at immobile targets. A high dirt mound acted at the backstop behind which the cardboard targets sat. Now, forty-four-gallon barrels and empty beer cans are perched near the mound; all are riddled with holes from bullets. The only people who come out here are criminals, teenagers, and drunken rednecks.

I check my watch and look down the road; Negan is late. He may have had some trouble finding this place, or he might just be an asshole who likes fucking with people. Either way, I'm annoyed. The only thing keeping me calm is Michonne's slender hand resting on my knee as she sits between Tyreese and I in the front of the van.

The crackling of Ty's walkie sounds, and he responds by saying, "Go ahead."

"Saviors just passed our checkpoint," says the voice at the other end; it's Spencer. "Two men."

"They packin'?"

"Yeah," he replies. "One is. Glock nine."

"You take it?"

"He wouldn't hand it over," Spencer answers; Tyreese rolls his eyes.

"You got their phones? Swap cars?" he presses.

"Yeah," says Spencer, just as the two men drive into the range and come to a halt beside our van.

"They're here," says Tyreese. "Stay frosty."

"You ready?" I ask Ty.

"Yeah," he answers, lifting his MAC-10. He steps out of the vehicle, and points his weapon at the car.

"Get out, and show me your hands," Ty orders. The two men do as they are told; the one named Simon, and Negan himself.

"Easy there," says Negan, wearing a smile, even though someone is aiming a sub-machine gun at his head. "We're just here to check out the goods."

"Do you have any weapons on you?" Ty asks.

"Just this pistol," Simon replies, waving it in the air.

"Toss it over here," says Tyreese; Simon does as he is told. I grab my Colt Python, and climb out of the van; Michonne follows, but goes to the back of the van.

"Ah, Rick," says Negan. "There you are. Are we gonna do this, or keep this dick measuring contest up?"

"I'm holdin' onto this," I say, as I reach down and retrieve the handgun from the dust, and place it at the small of my back; Ty lowers his weapon. "Just until we're through here."

"That is the fuckin' absolute smartest shit to do right now, Rick," Negan answers. "I ain't mad at you."

 _God damn it, he's annoying._

"I got a little somethin' for you to test out," I say, as I gesture to where Michonne is standing; the two Saviors follow me. She lifts the lid on the hidden compartment on the floor of the van, and retrieves a Brno Hornet. She turns and holds the sleek rifle in her hands, before offering our customers a smirk.

"Now that is _so_ fuckin' sexy," says Negan, as he inches forward; I notice his eyes scanning up and down Michonne's body. I clench my jaw. "I would love to test that beauty out. I do believe I'm crackin' a woody right now. Ain't that the sexiest shit you've seen, Rick?"

"Would you like to try it?" Michonne suddenly queries, with a smile, as she runs her hand over the wooden finish of the Brno.

"Would I like to try it?" says Negan. "Sweetheart, I thought you'd never ask."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

There is a sharp pinging sound that follows the sudden loud crack as the bullet is projected from the rifle. Negan has already emptied one magazine clip into a barrel. He loads another, and then looks over to where Rick and I are standing. I offer him a little grin, which he returns.

 _Rick cares for me._ I push the thought from my mind.

"This is some nice ass hardware, Rick," he says, glancing in our direction. "The kickback ain't bad at all; my grandmama could shoot this shit."

I see an opening; I take a step forward and ask, "Can I try it?"

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _What the fuck?_

 _What is she doing?_

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

A wide smile crosses Negan's face; I feel Rick's questioning glare. I try to ignore it.

"Can I?" I repeat. "I've never shot a rifle before."

"Well, shit, honey," says Negan, highly amused. "Get your ass on over here and do your worst."

I flash him a bright smile, and saunter over. I can feel Rick's stare burning into my back as I approach Negan. I keep my gaze averted, but I can tell he's pissed and wondering what the fuck it is that I am doing.

"Damn, Rick," Negan laughs, as he passes the weapon to me. "You got a real firecracker on your hands with this little lady. You tellin' me you never let her play with your big gun before? Sweetheart, you can handle mine any time…"

"Hey!" Rick calls out. "Watch how you fuckin' talk to her…"

"Rick," I say, trying to diffuse the situation. "It's okay."

He is fuming; Negan is smirking.

 _Rick really cares for me._

I feel shitty, but I keep going.

"Can you show me how to hold it?" I ask, somewhat seductively. Negan licks his bottom lip, and nods.

"Darlin', it would be my pleasure," he says, as he inches closer to me. He stands with his chest pressed to my back; he brings his hand to cover mine, as he positions it on the rifle, showing me how to aim. He leans in and says, "Now you just look through here and line up your target."

His breath is warm on my ear.

"You wanna give her some room?" Rick calls out; Negan relinquishes his grasp on me, and steps back, while raising his hands. I focus, close one eye, and peer into the scope. After taking a deep breath, I pull the trigger. The bullet leaves the rifle and pierces through the barrel. Negan was right; the recoil is not so bad.

Before I can ready the weapon to take another shot, Grimes is taking the rifle from me. He gives me an annoyed look, before staring at Negan, and saying, "This little demonstration is over."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The throbbing in my temple feels as if it is going to cause my head to explode. I am so pissed right now. What in the hell was she doing? If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was flirting with this prick. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I did _not_ like seeing him with his hands on her; standing close to her; talking to her; breathing the same fuckin' air as her.

"Emm?" I say; my tone is stern and cold. "Get in the van."

"Rick?" she questions, but I silence her.

" _Get_ in the van," I repeat while glaring at her. She drops her head, and does as she is told. I shake my head, and let my thoughts consume me once more.

Was she fucking giggling with him? Am I losing my mind here? She was flirting with him, in front of me? I swear, this shit better be my imagination and my paranoia getting the best of me, because if it is anything else, there are going to be two bodies dropping today.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, then turn to Tyreese, and say, "Tell Spencer to bring their car up."

"You got it," he says, and takes his walkie out.

I turn my attention to Negan, and say, "Open the trunk of that car."

"Shit, Grimes," he starts. "I ain't your errand-boy. Simon, do as the man says."

His lackey approaches the car they rode up in, the car that they were told to swap at the checkpoint, and pops the trunk. He glances at the contents, and then looks back up at me.

"Uh, he must've been in here all along," says Simon, referring to the bound and gagged Gregory lying unconscious in the trunk. "Because we sure as shit didn't bring him."

I walk toward the car, peer into the back, and then take out Simon's Glock from the back of my jeans. After making sure the safety is off, and then cocking it, I aim it at Gregory's head and pull the trigger. There's a mess of blood, brains, and bone where his face used to be. I toss the pistol back to its owner, and then walk away.

Michonne is watching me; shock and horror cover her pretty face for a moment, before she recovers quickly. I walk to the van, and climb in next to her; she is silent. She does not look at me. I turn my head to her and say, "What I did just now is business. It's just business."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Fuck! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

This happened on my watch. Grimes just shot someone on my watch! I sit between him and Spencer on our way back to the Farm. We all remain silent. I can feel the rage seething from Grimes' body. He removes his gloves, and shoves them in the bag at his feet, before turning to stare out the window. He hasn't said a word to me since he first got back in the van. I chance a look at him. The veins in his temples are throbbing. He doesn't blink. I tentatively reach my hand over and graze my fingers against his.

"Don't," he reproaches, as he snatches his hand away and continues staring out the window. "Just, don't."

Suddenly, I feel like hot tears are threatening to spill from my eyes, as a lump begins to form in my throat.

 _He cares for me._

 _What have I done?_

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The cool shower helped me a little, but my head still hurts. I towel my hair dry, pull on my jeans, and sit down on the edge of my bed. I lift my head to the sound of someone knocking. I'm in no mood to talk to Michonne right now, but I call out anyways.

"Come in."

The door creaks open, and I am surprised to see Abe and Ty there; both men offer an apology for bothering me, and ask if they should return later. I shake my head, and invite them in.

"Did you get it done?" I ask, finding a t-shirt and pulling it on.

"Yes, Boss," says Abraham, referring to the disposal of Gregory's remains.

"Good," I offer. "I'll get Emm to arrange payments as soon as possible."

The men offer their gratitude, and then turn to take their leave. I drop my head into my hands, only to raise it again at the sound of Michonne greeting my men. She steps into my bedroom, and closes the door behind herself.

"Rick," she starts. "Can we talk?"

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I feel like my heart is going to leap from my chest as I wait for Grimes to respond to my admission. I'm unsure of if it registered, so I say it again.

"Rick? I was told to flirt with Negan; I was purposefully testing the waters today. Seeing if this honeypot thing my boss wants me to do is a viable plan to get closer to him. I was just…"

"I heard you the first time," he says coldly. He gets to his feet, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and then finally turns to face me. He seems calm on his exterior, but I can see the white, hot rage behind his cold blue eyes.

"Okay," I answer, not knowing what else to say.

He begins to pace; I can practically feel the heat of his anger emanating from his body.

"Are you gonna go through with it?" he asks as he ceases his striding, and places both hands on his hips. His eyes penetrating me.

"I don't know," I say honestly.

"You don't know?" he questions with raised brows; his voice, suddenly an octave higher, is dripping with venom. "So, you wanna fuck this guy?"

"It's nothing personal," I retort defensively. "It's just business."

He is unimpressed when I repeat his very own words, from earlier in the day, to him. He lets out a deep breath, steps closer to me, and stares me down.

"Do you want to fuck him? _Yes_ , or _no_?"

"No," I answer. "This is just business."

"Yeah, okay," he snorts derisively, throwing me a spiteful glare. "So, you fucked me because it's your job, uh?"

"I slept with you because I wanted to," I remark in earnest. "But this, this honeypot thing, it's different to what we have…"

"Different? What we have? You're so full of shit, Michonne," he derides. "You're just fuckin' me to close this case; I see that now. _Now_ you've got bigger fish to fry, so you're hoppin' over to ride the next dick to get ahead in your job. It is what you're good at, takin' dick for your career."

"Fuck you, Grimes," I spit, tears welling in my eyes; I blink them back. "I don't have to explain myself. Least of all to a piece of shit like you!"

I turn to leave, and he grabs me by my arm, and says, in a low, menacing tone, "Don't you walk away from me."

"Get the fuck off of me!" I yell, as I push him away; he stumbles backwards, but rights himself quickly. "You killed some guy tody, and acted like it was a business transaction, yet you're here getting your panties in a twist because I was told to flirt with some guy as part of my actual job? You're the one who's full of shit…."

"But it isn't gonna be _just_ flirting, is it?"

"Ugh," I moan, as I roll my eyes. "Don't be so fucking juvenile, Grimes…"

"You can't leave it at _just flirting_ , can you?" he continues.

"This is ridiculous…"

"You obviously don't give a flying fuck about me…"

I squint my eyes in his direction.

"You'll get caught up with this prick. Just like you did with Mike Anthony," he says, and I feel my heart sink to the bottom of my stomach. I narrow my eyes and shift closer to him. He is _not_ supposed to know about Mike; how the _fuck_ does he know?

"What?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly; my throat growing dry. "What did you just say?"

* * *

A/N: Oh dear…


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Sorry for the wait; thanks for your patience. I'll reply to reviews when I have a little more time, but thanks to those who left me feedback; it's really helpful. Oh, and thanks for the new faves and follows! :) Okay, we're picking up right where we left off.

* * *

 _Michonne's POV_

"I've known for a while now," Rick seethes, as if it's taking all of his strength to force those words from his throat without screaming them at me.

"How?" I ask, barely above a whisper; I am deflated. His words have drawn the air from my lungs. He gives me a glare laced with such disdain, that I have to look away.

There's a loud ringing in my ears as he pushes past me and exits the room. I don't know how long I've been standing here. My heart is racing; my head is hurting. I feel like I am going to cry as the lump in my throat grows larger. I place the palm of my hand over my mouth to stifle the shriek of frustration that is threatening to leave me; I try to calm my erratic breathing. Bottling things up for as long as I have is not healthy; I fear it's all coming to a head now.

When Rick finally returns, his face red with ire, and the vein in his temple protruding, he hands me a file. It's a DOJ file. I open it, my hands shaking; I skim through it and find reports that I wrote. Reports that were written about me. It looks like it is all here. Details of the most recent work I've done. Case notes; information about Mike. A copy of my affidavit that led to his indictment. Findings on my internal investigation; transcripts of my interviews; details _._

 _My fucking psych evaluations_.

It's all here. He's seen it all. He knows. And it dawns on me; he used it to get close to _me. He had to._ He played _me._ I fell for it. I let my guard down, like an idiot, thinking I had the upper hand; when he knew my weaknesses. He knew how to chip away at me. He used me, to get more time on the outside; to clean house. Because I am fucking weak and he knew it. _He knows_.

I close the file. I look up at him, and bite my bottom lip as tears finally fall from my eyes. I hold back the sobs, but not the hot tears.

 _Shit!_

I don't want to feel like this, so vulnerable and naked; all of my ugly truths on display, neatly packaged in this dossier. I didn't want him to know those things about me. I wipe my face, toss the folder on his bed, and then turn and walk away.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _Fuck._

I let her leave. Following her will make this worse.

 _Fuck!_

Despite my fuckin' anger, seeing her cry…it hurts.

That hurt her.

I hurt her.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I lay in the dark, in my bed, back at my apartment; I've left the Farm. He didn't follow me; I am thankful. I'm still so angry at him right now. I cried. Can you fucking believe it? _I_ cried. It was the first time I've cried, and I mean _really_ cried, for a long time. Regardless of what I do for a living, I feel as if _he_ betrayed my trust. It's like _he_ manipulated _me_ with _his_ sexuality; poetic fucking justice, uh? After all of the shit _I've_ done. He drew me in and had me turn a blind eye to everything _he_ has done.

Why didn't he make any sexual advances towards me _before_ I arrested him? _Right_. There was no need to. He didn't have to pretend he was attracted to me before. He knew what happened with Mike; he thought he could manipulate me into falling for him.

 _God damn it!_

I was falling for him, and he was…He was just playing me to get away with murder while we, the Federal Fuckin' Bureau of Investigation, granted him immunity; gave him a free pass. He knew who I was all along.

 _Christ._

I was so stupid! I _am_ so stupid.

He never cared about me.

How could he?

I'm the piece of shit, here.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The heat of the Georgian night seems suffocating and my head pains me. The whiskey is only exacerbating the migraine I have right now. Oh well. _Fuck it all_. I drink some more and stare down at her file atop my father's desk. I knew what she was capable of, and I still lost my shit. Out here showing my ass when she doesn't give a fuck about me. This is all just a job to her. But what did I expect? I've read her file, a hundred times over; I _know_ what she can do. I top my glass up once more. I don't even feel the heat of the liquor as I swallow it down. The glass shatters into countless little pieces, sharp and jagged, after I smash it against the wall.

She wants to fuck other people? So be it. Two can play at that game. I reach for my phone in the pocket of my jeans. Scrolling the contacts, I remember she blocked that particular number. I press my fingers to my temple, and scroll further to see if she has done the same to the others. She hasn't. I select one, and bring the phone to my ear; the dial tone sounds in time with the throbbing in my head.

"Hello?" says the feminine voice on the other end of the line. "Rick?"

…..

 _Confidential Case File #2714_

 _Type: Psychological Evaluation 2 of 5 – Interview Transcript_

 _Subject: Michonne Bourdain, Special Agent, FBI's Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch_

 _Current Status: Inactive (approval pending)_

 _Classification: Deep Undercover Operative_

 _Assessor (A): Special Agent Bourdain, what was the nature of your relationship with Mike Anthony?_

 _Bourdain (B): It's in the case notes._

 _A: Yes, I've read them. You were working undercover and infiltrated his organization. How did you do it?_

 _B: Honeypot ploy. I met him at a function, flirted with him, got close; later, I entered into a relationship with him. It's all there._

 _A: So, you got close to him?_

 _B: Yes. I was viewed as his girlfriend by him and his associates._

 _A: How did you view yourself?_

 _B: What do you mean?_

 _A: In relation to Mike Anthony; how did you view yourself? As an undercover agent, or as his girlfriend?_

 _B: I was deep undercover._

 _A: Yes, Agent Bourdain, I understand that; what I want to know is if you saw yourself as his girlfriend? Did you see yourself as more than an undercover operative working his case?_

 _B: Yes, I did. I - I was in deep, for a long time. I, I blurred the lines._

 _A: Would you say you developed genuine feeling for him?_

 _B: I -_

 _A: Agent Bourdain?_

 _B: Yes. I guess I developed feelings for him._

 _A: What was the nature of those feelings? Amicable? Romantic?_

 _B: It was sexual at first._

 _A: You engaged in sexual relations with the target?_

 _B: Yes. It's not discouraged by Bureau as a means to an end._

 _A: I am aware of the purview, Agent. Did you develop emotional, romantic attachments to Mike Anthony?_

 _B: Yeah, I, um. Yes. I think I did._

 _A: You think, or you know?_

 _B: I know. I had romantic feelings for him; I had deep feelings for him. I guess I loved him. It was wrong of me, but I can't change that now._

 _A: I see. Did you disclose to him your real identity?_

 _B: No, never._

 _A: How did it make you feel, knowing you had deep feelings someone who didn't know who you really were?_

 _B: I ignored it, most of the time. I had to, to get my job done._

 _A: You betrayed him?_

 _B: Yes, you could say that I did._

 _A: What about your feelings on betraying him? Did you ignore those as well?_

 _B: I was doing my job._

 _A: Yes, but you were in love with this man; it had to have been difficult?_

 _B: It was._

 _A: Did you ever think about disclosing your true identity to him?_

 _B: Sometimes, but I never did._

 _A: You hide who you really are well?_

 _B: Yes. It's something I excel at._

 _A: What is your relationship like with your parents?_

 _B: My parents? Our relationship? It's - cold, I guess. Shallow, maybe; distant. Not on their part; it's on me. I hide things from them. They don't really know me. I feel like I don't really know myself sometimes. They don't really know what I do. I don't fit in their world; I belong here, telling lies._

 _A: Is it easy for you to, as you say, blur the lines because you are so detached from your real self? You find it easy to disassociate from your real identity?_

 _B: Yeah. That's one way of putting it. It's like, I barely remember her sometimes, not me, the FBI Agent, but me, just Michonne. I've worn so many masks. Sometimes, I can't stand being with myself, when I'm off assignment._

 _A: Why is that? Can you elaborate?_

 _B: In my real life, I didn't like myself too much, because I was always drawn to the darker side of things. It's why I can fit in easily with criminals; I empathize with them too much._

 _A: Enough to break the law?_

 _B: I've always stayed within the boundaries of my assignments - always. It's more like, I feel an affinity with them. I can play my part, and feel like I belong in their world, but at the same time, I know that they are breaking the law; I know I am there to take them down._

 _A: Has there been a time when you questioned whether or not you could get your job done while on assignment._

 _B: Yes. Once._

 _A: Once?_

 _B: Yeah._

 _A: Agent Bourdain? Please elaborate. You questioned whether you could continue with your UC assignment once? When was this?_

 _B: The first time Mike Anthony told me he loved me._

 _A: I see._

 _B: Yeah._

 _A: You were willing to risk your career? The assignment?_

 _B: No. That wasn't what I was thinking._

 _A: What were you thinking in that moment?_

 _B: I was thinking - I was thinking that it was nice, you know? No one ever loved me before. No one ever said that they loved me before. It was nice. I wished that he was saying it to me, not to the person he thought I was._

 _A: That must have been difficult to come to terms with. Agent Bourdain?_

 _B: Sorry. Yes, it was. He told me he loved me, and I liked it, but it wasn't really me he had feelings for._

 _A: What was your response?_

 _B: I told him I loved him, too._

 _A: Did you mean it?_

 _B: Yes, I suppose so._

 _A: Did your feelings impede your judgement, or influence your actions?_

 _B: No. I stayed UC until the very end. He never knew my true identity._

 _A: But you didn't bring Mike Anthony to justice._

 _B: No, I didn't._

 _A: Because of your feelings for him?_

 _B: No. Have you read the fucking case file?_

 _A: Yes, Agent Bourdain. Please, there's no need to be defensive; we're here to clear some things up. We're here so you can talk about the things you've been holding inside. You're a good agent. We want to see you return to the field, but I need to ask these questions, even if I've read the file. You understand that?_

 _B: Yes, I understand. I'm sorry. You were saying?_

 _A: Do you think your feelings for the target may have had anything to do with why he was not arrested? Was your judgement impeded because of how you felt?_

 _B: No. He wasn't arrested because when the Bureau came for him, he was killed in the gunfight that followed. It had nothing to do with my feelings or me perverting the course of justice, or interfering, or turning a blind eye; it was nothing like that._

 _A: Are you certain?_

 _B: Yes. I mean, how could it be? I'm the one who shot Mike. I did what I had to do, to get the job done. I pulled the trigger. I killed him._

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I've calmed down. I've had a cold shower. I know what I have to do. I'll talk to Grimes in the morning; give him the chance to tell his side, like why the fuck he has a file on me and where the fuck he got it from. I can't work under these circumstances. I can't get the job done like this. We have to bring Negan down together. I was stupid for not telling him how I was advised to approach the target in the first place, but I don't have any more explaining to do. Either he understands that spies and UC operatives have been seducing targets ever since the advent of the occupation, or he doesn't. I'm not here to handle him. I am too tired to make him see reason if he cannot. I fucked up by not telling him, and I own it, now. What has he done, besides make deals with the Government to cover his own ass? I may not like what I do, but I do it out of a sense of duty; he is who he is out of a sense of entitlement.

I'm done.

This aching in my chest will go away; what I feel for him will fade.

I call Glenn.

"Hello," he answers.

"Glenn," I say softly. "We need to talk. Can you speak freely?"

"Yeah. Everything okay?" he asks, noting that I did not place an order for pizza, which always meant we should meet.

"I need to sit down with SSA Peletier again," I advise. "I'm going to wear a wire to the next meeting with the target."

"What? No, no, no. That is a _bad_ idea," says Glenn. "It's way too soon. Too dangerous. If the target or his people find out, they'll kill you. You know that."

"I can't play honeypot to this guy," I offer. "He's too paranoid; he's not going to believe that Rick Grimes' significant other is hitting on him. He'll smell a set up. I have to record him, sooner rather than later."

I leave out the part where I don't want to have sex with this man. I fail to explain that I will not do that to Rick, even though there was never any verbal agreement that we were exclusive; even though we're not really together, like a conventional couple. Even if I am beyond pissed at him.

"I'm serious," says Glenn. "I have to advise against this move. If he's as paranoid as you say, he'll be checking for recording devices, especially if money is exchanging hands in your next meeting. He'd be stupid not to."

He has a good point, an excellent point, but this is the only way I can see us actually getting the intel we need. I'm not certain how Rick is going to behave around Negan. He could be ordering a hit on him right now.

"I don't see any other way," I admit.

"You're smart," he offers. "You'll figure it out, but in the meantime, you have to be patient."

"Honestly, I don't know how much time I have left," I say.

"What's happened? Have you been compromised? Has someone threatened you?" he questions, his tone sounding genuinely concerned.

"It's Grimes," I reveal. "He and Negan are _volatile_ around one another."

"Is their deal still a go?"

"Yes, for now," I say. "Grimes found out about the honeypot ploy…"

"How?"

"I told him…"

"Why would you do that?" he asks.

"I tested the waters with the target in front of him," I supply. "He didn't take it well, at all. He doesn't want me to go through with it."

"Well, that's not his call," Glenn states. "This is _our_ operation; he is here to assist _us,_ not tell you what to do."

"I know, but he's the link to the target," I explain. "I have to respect his wishes; I have to keep him on my side."

"Michonne," he starts. "You don't have to answer this, and I mean no disrespect to you at all, but your cover, with Grimes, has it turned real?"

"Are you asking me if I'm sleeping with him?"

"Yes," says Glenn. "Because it sounds like he's a jealous boyfriend."

"No," I lie. "I'm not sleeping with him; our cover is just a ruse. He just thinks Negan is too unpredictable for me to be getting involved like that, and I have to agree."

"Okay," he replies, sounding relieved that I seemingly have not crossed that line; relieved that he will not be forced to pull me from this assignment. "At this point, I'm going to advise you to keep your head down. I'll inform the Chief that you've requested a meeting. I'll send you a message with the details."

"Thank you," I say.

"I'm coming to see you tomorrow," he adds.

"Glenn, you don't have to…"

"No, I think I need to," he retorts. "Where are you?"

"At the apartment," I reply.

"Okay, see you there at lunchtime."

I end the call, and then stare down at my phone. There are no calls from Grimes. I am disappointed; I guess I at least expected him to wonder where I am. He probably doesn't even know I left. I hate that I care so much. Sighing, I drop the phone down onto my bed; I lay down next to it, exhausted by this whole damn thing. I make myself a silent promise, when this is over, I'm taking time off, I'm leaving the country. Maybe for a while; maybe for good.

…..

 _Rick's_ _POV_

I reach down the side of my seat, in the town car, and adjust it, so that it slides backwards. One hand adjusts the seating, the other adjusts my growing erection in my jeans. She rubs her hands over my crotch and tries to kiss my mouth.

"Don't," I warn. I'm not here, parked in the dark at the front of her place, for her to kiss me. I just want my dick sucked, that's all. If Michonne can fuck other people, why can't I? I close my eyes as she undoes my zipper and takes hold of my manhood. I don't want to look at her; I just want to feel something other than anger and pain. This is my go-to, though isn't it? Cheap sex with unavailable women who I could never see myself being with. But I will allow myself this indiscretion. I am my own man; I will not be treated like some punk because Michonne is doin' her fucking job.

She leans down and takes me into her mouth. She rolls her tongue around the tip of my cock and uses her hand to stroke my shaft. She was never the best at giving head, but she likes to fuck; and I need to fuck someone else so I don't think of Michonne.

 _Michonne._

 _God_.

 _What is wrong with me?_

We have one argument and I have this twenty-something year old slobbering on my cock?

I _am_ a piece of shit.

"Stop," I say, as I tap her on the back. "Hey, stop."

She does as I demand, removes my semi-erect dick from her mouth, and then glances up at me.

"What's wrong?" she asks, noticing that her attentions have failed to elicit the response we both thought we wanted. "Did you need me to…"

"I need you to go, now," I say.

"Rick…"

"Now!" I order. She jumps slightly, offers me a pained look, and them clambers out of the car, closing the door behind her. I tuck myself back into my clothing, and then slam my fist against the steering wheel several times. I retrieve my phone from my top pocket, then proceed to snap it in my hands, before discarding the broken device. I fix the seat, start the car, and drive off into the hot, smothering night. How can I be so numb, yet feel this aching inside of me?

…..

After returning the car to the garage, I walk past the guest house; the lights are still off, as they were when I left. Michonne must be sleeping; something that I probably should have done. I stop a moment, and consider if I should go and rouse her or not. If I should talk to her, explain myself, now that I'm calm. I think the better of it, sigh, and keep walking; she doesn't want to talk to me, and why would she? I think I've fucked everything up.

Nothing beautiful ever lasts with me; no one beautiful ever stays. I accept this defeat, and skulk away, with my head hanging low; the stench of stale whiskey and self-loathing trailing behind me in little wisps that dissipate and disappear.

I reach the steps of the back porch, where I halt. I turn my head and stare back at Michonne's quarters. My guilt urges me to go to her, my shame tells me not to. I clasp both hands to the back of my head, and curse out loud to the heavens. My shame, still fresh, like a gaping wound, wins out. I go inside, silently hoping she will receive me in the forgiving light of a new day. That she'll forgive me for my harsh mouth, and weak will, as I've forgiven her. I love her, still. I love her now; and I know that won't change tomorrow. The only thing that will have changed is me telling her how I feel. Me telling her everything; and maybe, just maybe, she will be able to forgive me, too.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and for reading this. Thanks, and hello, to everyone who started following this recently. I'm sorry for the delay in posting this update.

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

I didn't sleep well last night, so I have overslept this morning; it is almost nine o'clock. It was a concoction of guilt and whiskey that kept me awake. I kept thinking about the pain scratched across Michonne's face. How I said those cruel words to her in my anger. How I threw her file in her face like I was proud to have something on her. I was not; I am not. That was my way of getting to know her without trying. And now, more than anything, I want to get to know her; I want to understand the responsibility that is weighing on her. Why she does the things she does. How I can help her, instead of making things more difficult for her.

I felt impotent when she was flirting with Negan. I lashed out. I hurt her. I went and sought out another woman instead of going to bed, on my own, and thinking about my words; my actions. Now the only good thing in my life might be lost to me; the only real happiness I've had in years, may have slipped through my bloodstained fingers.

I brush my teeth and stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. Tired eyes roam over the dour surface of my angry skin, and I see it. It is there, carved deep into my face like the yawning wrinkles of old age: Guilt.

I have rarely been one to feel remorseful or guilty. I have done what I have needed to do, and moved on from it. _Not anymore_. Since Michonne came into my life, things have changed for me. Since I have come to realize who she really is, I have been changed. I resemble, though faintly, the man I was in another life. Before the merciless, blood-drenched hands and the hollow, unending screams; before I was a monster.

And believe me: I _am_ a monster. Yet, with her, I am different; I feel calm. I don't feel guilty about what I have done. No. I would do it all again. I would extinguish those lives and not lose a minute of sleep. The guilt now, that is swathing me like a heavy shroud, is from the hurt I have caused Michonne. Beautiful Michonne; the only goodness in my life.

I'm going to face her; I do not have time to waste, considering the nature of my existence right now. We still have a mission to complete; a case to close. I still have to work to hand Negan over to the Feds. Even if I want to put a bullet between his fuckin' eyes. Michonne's job is relying on this. Regardless of what I want to do, and how I feel about the measures she is told to go to, I would not jeopardize her career. She does not deserve that. She's good at her job. After all, she had me fooled for months.

 _Damn it._

Have I ruined what we had? Am I being foolish again now, for wanting to smooth things over with her? I guess time will tell; but right now, I need to see Michonne. I need to talk to her.

…..

I check the kitchen, and Tobin has not seen her yet, so I make my way to the guest house. I knock several times, and wait. There is no answer. Sighing, I knock again. _Nothing_. I reach for the doorknob and turn it; it is unlocked. Opening the door, I step inside. The common area is unoccupied, so I head toward the bedroom. The door is ajar, and Michonne is not here. I check the bathroom, and it is empty. Placing my hands on my hips, I turn around in the abandoned house: _She has gone_.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Now that I have had the chance to think about everything that has happened in the past twenty-four hours, I am certain of one thing: Someone in the Bureau has leaked my files.

I'm feeling a little bewildered right now. It's not even the fact that Grimes was able to get a hold of them, which is amazing in itself; it's that I have no doubt someone handed it to him. From what I saw, the dossier was put together from copies of numerous different files. Whoever compiled it wanted to show a certain view of who I am. There was nothing contained therein that was substantive about the other missions I've been assigned to; mainly about my time working Mike's case.

It makes sense; it was the only case I have worked where I've entered into a relationship with the target. Everything else was flirtations, seductions, and playing on my charms. Mike was different. And now, this whole thing with Grimes is different again. If he wanted information on how to get me to sleep with him, this is the file that would solidify his inklings, or at the very least, point him in that direction. And I get it. He was trying to get intel on me. I would do the same. I just want to know how he found out I was UC, and if it was by the same person who gave him the files.

I sigh and grab my phone. There are no new messages from Glenn. He has already informed me that SSA Peletier is away from the Office, so I can't see her until at least next week. There are no missed calls from Rick. He has not tried to make contact with me. After what transpired between us, I figured he wouldn't.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"Yes?" I answer into the burner phone, knowing it is either Negan, or one of his people.

"We'll make the purchase at the end of the week," a voice on the other end of the line advises. "Bring the merchandise, and we'll have the cash. Coordinates will be sent to this number."

"Copy that," I say, and wait for them to end the call. When they do, I put the phone in my pocket, and make my way out the back of my family home.

I pass one of my employees, who smiles and greets me. I ask them if they have seen Spencer.

"Yes, Mr. Grimes," they say. "He's over by the garage."

I thank them and head in that direction. I find Spencer under the hood of the town car. He is changing the oil. He does not hear me approach and jumps slightly when I address him.

"Spencer," I say flatly.

He straightens up, and faces me, while placing the lid back to the bottle of engine oil, before sitting it on the red, three-tier tool cart.

"Boss," he says. "What can I do for you?"

"Emm," I start. "Have you seen her today?"

"No," he replies. "Not today."

"When was the last time you saw her?" I ask, annoyed with his expression.

"Last night, when I dropped her home at her apartment," he offers, causing my jaw to clench; I sigh loudly, and tilt my head to the side.

"You couldn't lead with that, Monroe?" I query, feeling the irritability rising.

"You asked if I saw her today," he explains. "I thought she might've come back to the Farm."

"Well, she hasn't," I reply.

"Yeah, well, I don't blame her," he says, snidely, folding his arms.

"You got somethin' you wanna say to me?" I ask, as I shift my weight from one leg to the other.

"She was out here crying," he says. "Said you got into a fight."

"What the fuck has that got to do with you?"

"I care about her, okay," he says. "I care if she's upset and in tears."

"And I don't?" I ask, as I narrow my eyes and step closer to him.

"How can you when _you're_ the reason she was crying?"

"You sayin' I don't care about her?"

"Well why don't you act like it?" he retorts.

"And you'd be a better man for her?" I ask.

"Yes!" he answers, stepping closer to me. "I'm a better man than you are; I _am_ better for her."

I laugh at him, and narrow my eyes.

"You don't even fuckin' know her," I spit, while pressing my index finger hard into his chest.

"I know enough," he says; his stupidity is astounding. "I know she'd be better off with someone who respects her, and treats her right; I know she'd be better off with me…"

"You think _you_ , or anyone, could take her away from me?"

"Wouldn't be hard considering how…"

I do not let him finish his tirade. I can't explain how it feels when you're overcome completely by rage, but I know, in that moment, that I am. It boils quickly in the pit of my stomach; it storms through my being. I ball my fists, clench my teeth, and then take my swing. As my fist comes into contact with Spencer's face, the force of the hit causes him to drop to the rough ground. He is out cold, and I want so badly to kick him; to stomp on his head. To really do damage to him. But for Michonne and Deanna, I don't; instead, I shake my hand to regain feeling, as I stare down at him, and whisper, "No one, not you or anyone else, is takin' her from me."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

The pizza smells good. I peer into the box as Glenn stares at me.

"I'm okay," I answer his question, though he continues to look at me dubiously.

"Fine," he relays. "Just don't do anything rash. The Chief won't be back for a little while, so you've got some time to think about what you want to do next. But please, promise me you'll be smart about this."

"I will," I answer, just as there is a rapping at my door; I nod to Glenn and then check who is calling on me. Looking through the peephole, I see that it's Grimes. I curse under my breath, inhale deeply, and then open the door.

"What do you want?" I ask him sternly, crossing my arms over my chest and standing in the doorway; he looks around me and sees Glenn. I can't read his expression very well at this present time, but he does not seem impressed.

"Hey, kid," he calls to Glenn, ignoring my rude greeting. "You the only guy they got deliverin' pizza 'round here?"

"No, dude," says Glenn, fidgeting with the strap of his bag. "Of course not."

"Just seems like you're always making deliveries to my woman…"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Rick," I say, exasperated. "Leave the kid alone. Sorry, let me get your money."

"I got it," says Rick, as he takes a roll of notes from his pocket. He retrieves a one-hundred-dollar bill, and holds it out to Glenn. "Keep the change, buddy. And maybe, switch up your schedule a little; if it's only you makin' deliveries to her, well, then, people might start talkin'. I don't like it when people talk. You hear me?"

Glenn gives me an odd look, takes the money from Grimes, and says, "Okay, yeah. I hear you."

He then thanks us both, and leaves; I watch until he is out of sight. I then shoot Rick and annoyed stare.

"You've got some nerve," I say to him, not moving to let him enter. "What do you want?"

"Can I come in?" he asks, his stern expression softening.

"You're really out here gettin' jealous of the pizza boy?" I ask, incredulously.

He sighs, before saying, "I don't want to…"

"You're _too_ jealous, Rick," I cut in; he holds my gaze, but says nothing. "I _am_ allowed to interact with other men, you know. It's not like I'm gonna, what was it?"

" _Michonne_ …"

"Oh yeah, be hoppin' on to their dick," I sneer.

He closes his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose, before breathing a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry," he says, while staring into my eyes. "I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you. I'm sorry about the file; and if you let me in, I can explain some things to you."

I search his face, and he seems sincere in what he is saying. I, too, need to offer him some explanations, so I step aside and let him in. I gesture toward the couch for him to take a seat; he does so. I stand and wait for him to continue speaking.

"Look, about yesterday," he starts, as he glances up at me. "I didn't mean those things I said to you. I was out o' line, and I'm sorry."

"If we're going to keep working together," I say. "You have to know this: You do _not_ get to talk to me like that? Okay? I am _not_ one of your lackeys, or those bitches you used to fuck with. You don't get to disrespect me like that anymore."

" _If?"_

"Yes, Rick, _if,_ " I answer. "Christ. You can't even focus on what I'm saying."

I begin to pace, and he adjusts his attitude accordingly; he is on thin ice with me, and he knows it.

"I understand," he says promptly. "And I apologize. But I'm gonna need something from you, too."

"Yeah?" I query. "And what's that?"

"I'm gonna need you to not flirt with other guys in front of me and my men."

I sigh; I knew this was coming, and I have to swallow my pride.

"It won't happen again," I offer, as I stop still and face him. "I'm sorry I made you feel, or look silly. I know how important your reputation is; for it to look like your woman was into another man, in front of your crew, was just…it was foolish of me…"

"You don't get it, do you?" he asks, as he stands up. "It's not about lookin' stupid in front of my men. It's about how I _feel_ about you…"

"Rick," I say weakly. "Please, don't."

He moves closer to me. So close, that there is little space between us. He reaches his hand up, and gently strokes my face, while he stares deeply into my eyes.

"I want to be honest with you, about everything," he says softly. ".Just the thought of you with someone else, it made me crazy. I didn't mean those things I said to you. I didn't mean to hurt you."

There's a gentleness in his gaze that makes my heart feel as if it is floating, as he adds, "I don't want to hurt you. And I need you to know that I love you."

My breath catches in my throat and my heart is beating rapidly. _There it is_. The words I secretly longed to hear falling from his pretty lips. He is staring into my eyes, unflinchingly, as he makes his proclamation. I must look stunned, with my mouth slightly agape, and my eyes wide. I try to recover quickly from his admission, yet all I can say is his name.

" _Rick_ …"

" _Michonne_ ," he replies, as he cups my face. "I love you."

He said it: The words that make me weak. I let my head fall, as I stare down at the floor.

"You don't mean that," I whisper doubtfully, as my heart pounds against my rib-cage.

"Hey," he says, so gently that I have to look back up at him. "I do mean it…"

"No, you read my file," I say, stepping away from him; away from his touch. "You read my psych eval. You know…everything."

"Yeah," he offers, trying to inch closer to me; I hold my hands up for him to stop, and he does. "I know what you've done; I know who you are, and I still love you."

"Stop saying that," I murmur, as he closes the distance between us once again, wraps his arm around my waist and bores into my eyes with his. _He means it_. It is there, behind the deep blue of his eyes.

"I love you," he whispers, before pressing his lips to my mouth. His tongue searches for mine, but I pull away from him.

"Stop, please," I say, shifting backwards as I break free of his embrace, and holding my hand to my swollen lips. "Stop distracting me from what's going on here. We need to talk."

There is a hint of pain that flashes in his eyes. He sighs audibly, then nods his head before saying, "Okay. Let's talk."

…..

 _Confidential Case File #2714_

 _Type: Mission Debrief Interview Transcript_

 _Subject: Michonne Bourdain, Special Agent, FBI's Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch_

 _Current Status: Inactive (approval pending)_

 _Classification: Deep Undercover Operative_

 _Interviewer: Supervisory Special Agent Carol Peletier_

 _SSA Peletier (P): This interview is being recorded. State your name and credentials for the record._

 _SA Bourdain (B): Special Agent Michonne Bourdain, undercover operative with the FBI's Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch._

 _P: You have waived your right to have an Agents Association Representative present for this interview; is that correct?_

 _B: Yes, correct._

 _P: Agent Bourdain, can you recount for me the events of March 6, and the lead-up to the shooting death of Mike Anthony?_

 _B: Yes, Chief. On February 28, I was informed by my handler that the target was going to be arrested. I was told that SWAT would enter the residential premises of Mike Anthony on March 6 at three-thirty AM to subdue and detain the target. I was to remain UC and to be taken in with the target and his associates, therefor keeping my cover intact._

 _At approximately three-thirty-five AM, an alarm was set off; it was one that didn't appear on the schematics that I obtained during my time on assignment. The target's associates were alerted to the presence of the SWAT unit, and shots were fired._

 _The target was woke from his sleep by the commotion…_

 _P: How do you know?_

 _B: I was present in his bedroom - May I continue, ma'am?_

 _P: Go ahead._

 _B: One of his security team came to his room. From listening to their conversation, I ascertained that they were initially unsure of who had staged an attack on the target's home. The target even asked if it was a rival outfit. It was not made clear to them that it was Federal Agents until a second security team member came to the bedroom. At this point, the gunfire grew louder as the tactical unit closed in on the target._

 _I was handed a loaded Beretta M9 and told to follow the target and his two employees down the corridor, to the back stairwell. This acted as a covert exit that led to one of the garages. As per my intel, SWAT were told about this escape route, and already had it covered. As we approached…_

 _P: You and the target?_

 _B: Yes, myself, the target, and his two associates. As we approached the door, an Agent entered below, and made his way up the stairs. The target fired his weapon at this point, and then I shot his two associates…_

 _P: Terrence Wighton and Rhys Charles?_

 _B: Yes. They were facing me, securing the area for their boss, while armed. I shot them, and then I fired at the target._

 _P: Where did you aim?_

 _B: Kill shots, to the front of their heads. They went down, and I cleared their weapons from their reach. I then checked their vitals: Both died immediately._

 _P: And Mike Anthony? You incapacitated his associates, and then checked their vitals?_

 _B: No. Sorry. I cleared all of their weapons at once._

 _P: Okay, when did you disable the target?_

 _B: To clarify, directly after I took out his men, I waited for him to turn, and told him to drop his weapon; when he refused, I shot him in the chest. It was fatal. Moments later, after I cleared all of their weapons, and checked their vitals, SWAT arrived, detained me, and I was processed with the rest of Anthony's outfit. When it was suitable for me to be released and processed by the Bureau, I came here, as per our protocols._

 _P: You maintain that the target opened fire on the SWAT member first?_

 _B: Yes, that is correct._

 _P: You maintain that the target and his associates were armed?_

 _B: Yes, ma'am._

 _P: Thank you, Bourdain; I think I have all of the information that I need for the time being. If I need further clarification, you'll be called back for a second debriefing. Another Agent will collect you directly. This interview is now over._

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"That's it," she offers. "That's all I was doing; I don't want to have to seduce Negan; I didn't want to have to flirt with him; it was honestly just me trying to see if what I was advised to do was viable."

I nod my head; I see that now, after my anger and jealousy has subsided. After I have had time to process what was happening. And I know now that I was stupid; _so stupid._

"I'm sorry," I say; I would say it forever, if it meant she was at ease. "I should have listened to you instead of actin' the way I did…"

"I probably should have told you before I did anything…"

"How could you?" I ask earnestly. "With the way that I behave, I don't blame you from keepin' it from me."

"Well, I want that to change," she says. "I want us to be more open with one another. We have to be on the same page if we're going to move forward and get shit done."

"I'd like that," I admit, a slight smile playing on my features; this is good. "What did you wanna know?"

"I want to know if you knew who I was before we took you down?" she queries; I assumed she'd be wondering upon learning I had possession of the file.

"I honestly didn't make you for law enforcement before you arrested me," I say sincerely. "I thought you were Emm right up until you weren't. Honestly, I had no idea."

She shifts beside me on the sofa, her gaze fixed on mine. I can't tell if she believes me or not. I continue speaking.

"The file I have on you was given to me by a source of mine _after_ I made the DOJ deal," I admit.

"Who gave it to you?" she asks, wearing a serious expression.

"I can't say who my source is," I reply. "Just like you can't tell me who your handler is."

"Okay. I get it. Are they someone who works for the Bureau?" she presses.

"No," I say truthfully.

"Is it Deanna Monroe?" she questions.

"No," I offer, earnestly. "They're someone with connections. They're important to me, not you. They're of no consequence to you."

"Really?" she asks, raising her eyebrows. "Because they were able to get confidential information about a deep undercover operative, so I think that's of _some_ consequence."

"You're right," I say, before rubbing the back of my hand over my mouth. "Of course you are. But you're not in any danger…"

"I'm _always_ in danger," she interjects; I exhale loudly, and lean my arm on the backrest of the sofa.

"Michonne," I say softly. "I didn't request it so that I could use it to hurt you."

"Then why did you?" she asks. She is frank in her need for answers. I like it. This is progress for us.

"Because I wanted to _know_ who I was working with," I say. "I thought I was gettin' to know Emm; I was enjoyin' it, to be completely honest. And then, all of a sudden, you're someone else. You're Michonne. I needed to get my head around that. Then I needed to get to know _you._ "

"Is that why you requested that I keep working with you?" she asks.

"Yes," I admit. "I wasn't done with you; I needed more time with you. Not Emm, not the woman who worked for me and I was attracted to over the past eight months, but _you, Michonne_. You're _way_ more interesting than any cover they've dreamed up for you. I'm drawn to _you_ , not the person you've been playin'."

Silence passes between us as we stare at one another. I have told her everything that I can at this point. How I feel about her; what my intentions were; what my intentions are. I reach my hand over and grasp her shoulder gently; she does not move away, so I shift closer. I need to be nearer to her, in every way.

"And these past few weeks, bein' with you, Michonne, it's meant everything to me," I say in hushed tones; her eyes soften further at hearing my words. "You have to admit, just the two of us, together, it's been nice."

"It has," she whispers, and I inch closer still, as my hand comes to rest on her leg.

"I want us to bring Negan down, together," I say, as I rub my fingers over her smooth skin.

"I do, too," she replies, as she moves toward me ever so slightly; her gaze falls to my lips.

"And I want us to be together," I offer sincerely, confident in our newfound openness. "I don't want anything else to come between us."

"I know…"

"I don't want this to end," I confess, before I grasp her hips, and lift her onto my lap. She is pliant to my touch. She drapes her arms over my shoulders, and stares down into my eyes as she straddles me. Her fingers lace through my hair. I close my eyes as her lips descend on mine.

"Neither do I," she whispers, her breath warm on my mouth, before kissing me again.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I can feel his erection, firm and self-assured. It is pressed against my naked center as his lips work over my collarbone and neck. This is how we communicate best; in the throes of passion, yet we are working on other ways. Our conversation has led to this: Me writhing on top of Rick on my sofa, as he works fervently to free his cock from his pants. I don't want what he have together to end, but I know that it has to, so I will relish in this moment. This is a new page in our story. We're looking forward. I have never felt like this about anyone else. In this moment, as Rick holds his length ready to enter my aching sex, I know I'll never feel like this about another. I love him, too; but I am afraid to tell him because after we are done here, what future is there for us? I push the thought from my mind as he pushes himself inside of me.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

We lie curled together on her couch: Naked, sated, and fighting to catch our breaths. I wrap my arm over her waist, and press my calloused hand to her smooth, flat stomach. I pepper small kisses across her shoulder and down her arm. She sighs contentedly and covers my hand with hers. Suddenly, she shifts, and faces me; she slips slightly, and I grip her tightly so she does not fall to the floor. She blesses me with a lovely smile, and everything feels so right.

"We can do this," she offers; I hold onto to her firmly, as if I am afraid she's going to fly away.

"Do what?" I ask absently, completely taken by the beauty of her afterglow.

"We can bring Negan in," she says. "We can find a way to beat him, you and me. We can find a way to take him down."

I search her eyes and I believe what she is saying; I am captivated by the determination behind her stare. I am emboldened by her resolve.

"We can do this," she whispers once more as she gestures between us. "But only if _we_ do this."

…..

I feel a new lease on life as Michonne and I pull through the gates of the Farm. Tyreese greets us amicably as we attempt pass by.

"Boss," he says, causing us to halt a moment. "Mrs. Monroe left a message for you to call her as soon as you got back. She wanted to know what happened to your phone."

"Thanks, Ty," I say, nodding to him. I continue to drive up to my home.

"What _did_ happen to your phone?" Michonne asks, as she glances over at me. "I was surprised you didn't call me when I left."

"Yeah, I broke it," I offer somewhat sheepishly, as we stop at the front of the main house. "And I was surprised that you didn't call me either."

She rolls her eyes at my teasing, as a small smirk forms on her perfect lips, "I knew you'd find me. I knew you'd come for me."

I sense the playfulness in her statement, and suddenly want to devour her again. I reach over and place my hand on her knee, before saying, "Always."

…..

 _Michonne's_ _POV_

"Just there is fine, thank you," I say to Rick, as he places a bag of my recently gathered belongings down on the floor of the guest house; I walk over to the table, and set my purse down.

Rick steps away from the bag, and comes up behind me. He wraps his arms about my waist, and presses his lips to my neck. I cover his hands with mine, and delight in the feeling of being held by him. We stay this way for a moment, silently enjoying the presence of the other. I listen to his breathing close to my ear before he trails light kisses down to my shoulder. I feel the heat pooling once more between my thighs; I am still tender from his attentions before, but I would gladly take more. No one else has ever provoked this type of physical response from me. I grind my ass against him, and he moans deeply.

"Damn, I don't want to leave, but I gotta go," he says, apologetically, before kissing my neck again; he reaches his hand up under my skirt, and starts to pull my panties from my hips. "But you need to get rid of these, 'cause I'll be back soon."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

After I help Michonne out with some of her belongings, and remind her of how much I want her, I drag myself away from her before we end up naked once more. _God_. It's so hard to leave her. I want to stay with her; I want to take her to bed again. I want to get lost in her like it's the last time I'll ever get to be with her. I just want her, always.

More make-up sex is still most definitely on my books, but I have some other pressing matters that need my attention right now. I make my way to the privacy of my father's study, and close the door after I step inside. I amble over to the heavy desk, take a seat, and pick up the receiver of the phone. I have Deanna's number on speed-dial; she answers after two rings.

"Rick?" she says; I cannot gauge her mood so far.

"Yes," I reply. "Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner, I got held up…"

"That's not important right now," she cuts me off, impatiently. "I have a question and I need you to answer me right away; I need you to answer me honestly…"

"Deanna, what's goin' on?" I ask, concerned with the stern tone of her voice. "You know I'll always be honest with you."

"I know," she offers, more in an effort to reassure herself. "I know. So tell me, who's Michonne?"


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Hello everyone! So sorry for the wait on this one. I've been going through some rough times in my personal life. Glad to finally get this chapter to where I wanted it to be. I had to split the original chapter in half because it didn't flow how I wanted it to. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this instalment. I hope to hear from you all.

* * *

 _Confidential Case File #2714_

 _Type: Psychological Evaluation 1 of 5 – Interview Transcript_

 _Subject: Michonne Bourdain, Special Agent, FBI's Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch_

 _Current Status: Inactive (approval pending)_

 _Classification: Deep Undercover Operative_

 _Assessor (A): Agent Bourdain, welcome._

 _Bourdain (B): Thank you._

 _A: I understand you've just come back from an assignment?_

 _B: Yes, that's right._

 _A: It was a particularly long one?_

 _B: Twelve months, or so._

 _A: It wasn't your first assignment, though?_

 _B: Correct. I've been UC a dozen times before. But this one was different. It was my first for an extended time._

 _A: I see. How do you think you coped?_

 _B: I did my job. Kept my head down._

 _A: It's a highly stressful job. You're always in danger. And from what I understand, you were living amongst the target and their associates?_

 _B: That's correct._

 _A: That makes the situation even more dangerous. How did you cope?_

 _B: I focussed on the end result: Bringing in the target._

 _A: What was day-to-day life like?_

 _B: Mundane, a lot of the time; except when there were parties or business deals or both._

 _A: The target distributed illicit drugs?_

 _B: Yes, and business deals turned into parties._

 _A: Did you partake in illicit drugs?_

 _B: No. The target didn't either, and made sure his associates did not use his product._

 _A: Tell me, how does it feel to be back from assignment. How are you adjusting?_

 _B: I'm getting all of the paperwork out of the way._

 _A: Do you enjoy it?_

 _B: No, but it has to be done. I can move on to this part of the process now, so that's good._

 _A: You like being interviewed?_

 _B: It's nice to have someone to talk to._

 _A: Did you have someone to talk to while you were undercover?_

 _B: I had lots of people to talk to; but everything that came out of my mouth was a lie._

 _A: Do you enjoy lying?_

 _B: No, not particularly._

 _A: But you do it for a living._

 _B: Yeah, because I'm good at it._

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"Don't lie to me, Rick," Deanna warns. "Who is Michonne?"

My stomach sinks low, and I am sure my heart has skipped a beat. Deanna's voice rings in my ears once more.

"Rick?" she asks.

"I don't know who that is," I lie, keeping my voice even, free from fluctuations, even though my heart is now racing. "What's this about?"

I hear her exhale loudly.

"Spencer," she says. "He left some rambling voice message for me. He said that name and something about her being at the Farm. I couldn't understand him, but if there's some fast ass girl you've got hanging around the business, I need to know. I don't like new people; you know that."

"I don't know what in the hell Spencer is talkin' about," I say, genuinely confused. "I must have hit him harder than I thought."

I hear her sigh, before asking, "What did you do to him?"

"I sat him on his ass," I answer sincerely.

"Why?"

"Because he needs to learn some manners," I state firmly. "You sent him here to learn; to have some discipline. He can't just talk to me any damn way he wants to, Deanna. He's gotta learn respect."

"I realize that, Rick," she answers sternly. "You know how he is."

"Exactly," I say. "And that's why he decked him."

"I think you should keep him close to you," she explains. "Have him around the operations more…"

"What?" I ask, almost completely exasperated. "He's already my driver."

"Yes, but I think he could learn a lot more from you," she offers. "If he shadows you."

"He's not gonna want to be around me," I scoff. "We've got other issues outside of him bein' an ungrateful little shit…"

"Emm?" she asks, and I feel my body tense up.

"What about her?" I query, not comfortable with my mother figure, benefactor, and a literal murderer bringing up the woman I love, especially regarding the reason for this phone call.

"She's the other issue?" Deanna questions.

"Yeah," I admit. "He's got some kind of schoolboy crush on her."

Deanna laughs, "I always knew my boy was clueless."

"I don't like it," I offer, not finding it as amusing as she does. "He should be grateful to be here, and not spend his days coveting what's mine."

"He wants to be like you, Rick," says Deanna, solemnly.

"He's nothin' like me," I reply, swapping the phone from one hand to the other.

"That's why I need you to keep working with him," she replies. "So that he _can_ be more like you. Please, Rick; do it for me. Just a little while longer."

I let out an audible sigh, and then rub the back of my hand over my dry mouth.

"All right," I answer. "For you, not him."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

After having changed into shorts and a tank top, I make my way to the main house. I need to procure several bottles of water; my fridge is not nearly as well-stocked as the one inside of Rick's kitchen, and I don't fill the pitcher in mine nearly enough. The house is quiet, and I admit to myself that it feels good being back here. The brief overnight stay at my apartment was needed, but that place did not feel like I belonged there. I feel like I belong here, and that frightens me a little; but it also makes sense. Rick is here, and I want to be wherever he is. I can admit that to myself now. I exhale loudly, and open the fridge.

"I guess he found you, then," says a voice that I recognize as belonging to Spencer. I am startled, but maintain a cool countenance as I turn to look at him.

He is motionless, leaning against the door jamb, with his arms folded over his chest. His head is lowered, and his face shaded by a baseball cap. I close the door of the towering appliance, and lean against the counter.

"Yeah," I answer, taking in the odd vibe he is giving off. "Looks that way."

He steps forward, slowly; his head still lowered, and makes his way to the sink. He fills a glass with water. I watch him, curiously, and then notice his face under the sterile fluorescent lights. There is swelling around his left eye, and the skin has begun to grow discolored.

"What happened?" I ask, inching towards him. "Who did this to you?"

He takes two pills from his hand and tosses them into his mouth, before washing them down with the water. He turns and stares into my eyes, before saying, "Your man did this to me."

"Rick?"

"Yeah," he says. "Rick."

"What happened?" I ask, genuinely concerned about his wellbeing, even if he isn't.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he sneers. "Just him being who he is: A dangerous, violent prick."

"Spence…"

"Oh, sorry," he says sarcastically. "I forgot that's what you like in a man. But I'm not gonna say anything else about it. You're a big girl; you know what you want."

I go to respond when I notice the man in question stepping into the kitchen. Instinctively, I step away from Spencer and move towards Rick. His eyes are trained on his driver. Without looking at me, he reaches his arm out, gesturing to me; I go to him. He wraps it around my waist, drawing me closer to his side. Spencer averts his gaze; Rick speaks.

"I just got off the phone to your mother," he says flatly. "I want you to be ready first thing tomorrow. We've got work to do. And me knockin' your ass out isn't gonna change that, so no more bullshit, Monroe. Take a fuckin' Tylenol and sleep it off."

With that, he takes hold of my hand and leads me out of the kitchen.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

We walk in silence as I lead Michonne toward my bedroom. Once inside, I let go of her hand and amble over to the window. I close the blinds before taking up a seat on my bed. She stands in front of me and waits; I look up at her. She is so beautiful. Her hair is pulled away from her face, tied loose and low at the back of her neck. My eyes follow the lines of her collarbone, and stop at the rise of her breast. She is divine. I almost forget what I wanted to say.

"He deserved it," I finally offer. Her expression is stern, but I see no judgement in her eyes. Instead, she steps forward, places her hands on my shoulders, and squeezes them.

"What did his mother want?" she asks, glancing down at me.

"To know who you were," I answer, taking her hands in mine.

"What do you mean?"

I sigh loudly and run my thumbs over her knuckles, "Let me start from the start."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I pace over to the window and peer out of the curtain as I let Rick's words sink in: Deanna Monroe knows of my real name. I feel his eyes on me before he even asks the question.

"You good?" Rick queries.

"Yes," I reply. "What will Deanna do when she finds out?"

"I won't let her hurt you," he offers; I can hear the sincerity in his voice.

"I know," I answer, finding his statement endearing.

"If anything happens, and she does find out," says Rick. "I choose you over her, over everything."

I turn to face him, offering him a small smile. We fall silent, staring at one another; I wonder if the love that is etched across his face is mirrored on mine. He breaks the silence.

"What's got me beat is how Spencer knew your name," Rick says. I suddenly feel a little guilty for not divulging this information to him previously, even though I thought I had no need to. I sigh, and get ready to tell him.

"He overheard you call me by my real name," I admit, stepping toward him. His eyes grow narrow.

"What?" he asks, incredulously; I bite my bottom lip, and then proceed.

"He called me Michonne once," I explain. "A little while ago. And I obviously freaked out and asked him where he heard it; he said he overheard you calling me Michonne."

"What did you tell him?"

"That it's a name only you call me and that he shouldn't repeat it because it would piss you off."

I can see the vein in his temple protruding as his expression becomes stern.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him," he says softly. So soft that it is almost innocuous in its delivery.

"Rick…"

"I'm gonna bury him…"

"Hey," I say, stepping closer to him and placing my hands on his face. "You don't have to do that; it's gonna be okay."

I search his eyes as he stares up at me. He grips my hips in his strong hands. I thread my fingers through his hair, stroking gently, until I am able to feel a calm wash over him. His focus is on me, not on the information that just caused him to grow angry. I hold his gaze, and the ire that had once filled his beautiful blue eyes gives way to a sense of serenity. His hands find my rear.

"It will," he offers, as he rubs my backside.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I exhale loudly. Michonne is the only person who can bring peace to me. I feel so many things deeply with her. With her, I find focus. Right now, the aggravation that was momentarily burning through my core gives way to another feeling as I palm her perfect ass.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Soon, that serenity that encompassed Rick is gone, and lust burns behind his eyes. I am forever amazed at how insatiable he is. He can become aroused at the drop of a hat; virile and passionate and always, always dominating. His hands squeeze my ass, and his lips turn up at the corner into a wicked little smirk. I cannot help but return the gesture as I continue to stroke his curls.

"What?" I ask, smiling down at him.

He tugs at the hem of my shorts, before saying firmly, "Take these off."

The authority in his voice, coupled with the look of hunger in his eyes, sets a steady pulsing between my thighs. I do as I am told. The shorts fall hastily to the floor, and I step out of them. He cups my backside, and draws me nearer to him; he then moves his hands slowly upwards, under my top. The bare skin of my abdomen is exposed to him. He kisses just above my navel. First with just his lips, then with his tongue. He holds me firm, even though the sensation makes my hips buck.

Next, his lips find their way below my navel, and down to where my panties cover the meeting of my thighs. He kisses where my clit is hidden away, and rubs his nose against it. I wonder a moment if he can feel my arousal soaking into the scant fabric. Soon, he draws my panties to the side and runs a finger over my slit. I hear him growl before he licks the length of my opening. I grab hold of his shoulders and steady myself. He licks again; his beard tickles me.

"Hmmmmm," he moans, after he pulls away. "You taste so good."

He smacks his hand against my ass, and then lets it slide down my thigh before saying, "Lift your leg up here."

I do as I am instructed and raise my right leg; I place my right foot on the bed, effectively giving Rick better access to my pussy. He lifts my leg over his shoulder. He holds me in place and brings his mouth back to my sex. His tongue works itself between my folds as he finds my clit.

"Shit," I say, when he begins to suck gently, humming as he does so. I grip him more firmly. He runs his tongue over my bud, before sucking it into his mouth once more. The sensation of his attentions alone is intense; when he adds his fingers, I almost collapse on top of him.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

Fuck. She's so tight and wet. I'll never tire of this feeling of how sweet she is. I pump two fingers inside of her, while I suck her pussy; the juices run down onto my hand. She grips my hair as she moans my name. My cock is straining against my jeans right now. She's so fucking sexy. I hasten my ministrations, finger fucking her good and hard while I taste her. I hold her in place; she tries to roll her hips. I suck her harder. Faster.

"Oh, Rick," she cries, urging me on. " _Rick_."

I get her off quickly; her walls clench my fingers as she reaches her climax. I withdraw the drenched digits, and then drink at her pussy while she comes in my mouth. Before she can catch her breath, I lift her up and then flip her over onto the bed. She opens her legs for me, and I kneel between them, quickly freeing my aching cock; I stroke my dick as I look into her eyes. Her stare is lust-filled. She bites her lip and looks at my manhood before removing her top. I follow suit and discard my own clothing. She plays with her dark nipples until they rival the stiffness of my dripping prick. I smile at her, and then cover her body with mine. We share a hot, messy kiss as I bring my engorged crown to her swollen, sopping little cunt. Her eyes close and her mouth falls open as I impale her.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

"Oh, God, Rick," I moan as he drives his hardness into me again and again. "Please, Daddy. More."

My eyes clench tighter as I feel his thick cock stretching me open with each fervent thrust. Pleasure courses through me and I whimper his name once more.

"Rick," I cry out. "Oh, fuck! Rick."

He drives his sex into mine over and over; his attentions, more primal and desperate. Hard and fast he pumps, working my creaming pussy just how I like it. Just the way I need it: Fucked hard, without mercy or restraint. And I come for the second time. My walls contracting around his veiny length, as my nectar flows. My breath is labored, and my mouth agape. My orgasm ripples through my body; igniting each cell, and causing each fine hair to stand up on my sweat covered skin.

He burrows his face into my neck and slams into me again.

"Fuck," he whispers, close to my ear. "Michonne; _Michonne._ "

I feel his hard dick trembling inside of my well-fucked pussy. And soon thereafter, he spills his seed, while grunting and swearing. His warmth spreads into my womb, and he collapses on top of me. He peppers light kisses against my damp skin, before holding me close. Our bodies, searing and euphoric, press together as we each try to slow our breathing. I can still feel his sex twitching inside of me, as the last of his cum shoots from the tip of his crown.

"Fuck," Rick murmurs, before he kisses my mouth, and withdraws his cock from between my sopping folds. "I love you."

I say nothing in response. He rolls to his back, and pulls my body on top of his. He wraps me in his arms and then places a soft kiss to my brow.

"Michonne?" he asks.

"Hmm?" I reply; certain he has fucked the ability to speak out of me.

"I meant what I said before about choosing you," he says softly and gently, as he traces patterns against my back with his thumb. "I won't ever let anyone hurt you. I'll look after you."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The scarce morning sunlight breaks through my curtain, rousing me from my slumber. Though I always have a lot on my mind, I slept well with Michonne by my side, in my bed. I take this quiet moment to stare at her as she sleeps. She is so beautiful, backlit by the streams of light peering in from the window. I want to reach over and touch her, but I don't want to disturb her. She didn't get much sleep last night, as we made love again and again. I never want to be far from her; she calms me. She invigorates me. And even though she has yet to utter the words, I know she loves me. I can see it in her eyes when she holds my gaze; when she is coming down from the highs of her climax. I know she does. She doesn't have to say it when it is written in her eyes.

I smile at her, and then go to stroke the side of her face when the burner phone perched atop my nightstand begins to ring. Sighing, I roll over and grab it; Michonne stirs beside me.

"Yes?" I answer.

"Grimes?"

"Yes," I say. "What is it?"

"This is Negan," the voice on the phone says. "Sorry to be callin' so early. Top of the mornin' to ya."

"Are we meeting or not?" I query, growing impatient quickly.

"Well, shit, Rick," he says, his tone somewhat jokey. "I'm just trying to make some small talk with you…"

"I'm not here for small talk," I reply, keeping my voice low. "Let's arrange the meeting details, and get this over and done with."

"All right," he says, with a slight chuckle that annoys me. "No bullshit; I like that. A man who gets straight to the point. Well, Rick, I wanted to invite you and your lovely accountant to one of my places not too far out of town. Are you able to travel?"

"How far out of town?" I say, ignoring his remark about Michonne.

"Twenty miles between here and Bishop County," he relays. "There's this little spot off the main highway. I'll send through the exact address."

"That's not a problem," I say. "What time?"

"Sunday, five o'clock in the PM," says Negan. "Give us all a chance to go to church in the morning."

"I can do that," I answer.

"That's good, Rick," he replies. "Good as shit. See you then."

I sigh, and then end the call without any further words. After I place the phone back on the table beside my bed, I roll over and look at Michonne. I notice that she is now awake, scrolling through her own phone. I shift closer to her, and wrap my arm over her waist, before peppering kisses to her shoulder.

"That was Negan," I say softly; she places her phone away and then moves so that she is facing me. "We've got the go ahead for the exchange this Sunday at five."

I notice the frown that plays on her features, before she laments, "I hope I can make it."

"What?" I ask, my brow is furrowed. "Why wouldn't you?"

"I just received a message," she offers. "Inviting me to a Business and Accounting Expo in DC."

"Okay, but you're not really an accountant," I say, slightly confused.

"It's from my superiors," she says. "It means they need to pull me away from the assignment…"

"What?" I say, as I sit up in bed. "They're taking you away from me?"

She sits, holding the sheet over her naked chest. I feel my heart beating wildly in my own chest, frantic from the possibilities.

"No," she offers, grabbing my arm in a soothing manner. "Not necessarily. I have to go. I have to see what they want. But I'll contact you either way. I promise."

I cup her face with my hand, and watch the sincerity in her eyes, before saying, "All right. I'll wait for you."

…..

I check my wristwatch; it's been five minutes. Spencer's supermarket cologne is driving me insane. Here comes Michonne with the keys. I climb out of the car and meet her.

"All good?" I ask, taking her hand in mine. She nods her head.

"Yeah," she replies. "I'm good to go."

I tap on the window, and Spencer rolls it down.

"Grab Emm's stuff," I instruct him; he does as he is told. I take the bag from him, and then begin to lead her away.

"Have a safe trip, Emm," Spencer calls; she stops and offers him a smile.

"Thanks, Spence. I'll see you soon," she says; her sweetness is endearing, despite whom it is aimed at.

She and I continue walking. When we reach the rental vehicle in the small lot, she unlocks it; I place her bag in the trunk, and then close it. We stand there staring at one another. I know I have a deal with the DOJ which stipulates that I work with Michonne. I know the FBI would not jeopardize that deal by removing her, when it means they will have Negan, but there is still a small sense of dread swirling in the pit of my stomach. A fear that she is being taken off of the assignment.

I know I have had my plan in place for some time now; a plan that is buying me time before I am sent to prison for the rest of my life. But, I never planned to feel this way about someone again. I never planned to fall in love with Michonne. I haven't known her long enough; we haven't spent enough time together. If she is taken from me now, I don't see how I can complete my plan; I don't see how I can be without her. She steps closer to me and cups my face in her hand; I gaze down at her and offer a weak smile. We share a languid kiss, before I reluctantly pull away.

"Contact me as soon as you can," I say, holding onto her as if my life depended on it.

"I will," she whispers in response.

Her big brown eyes bore into my melancholic blue ones. I brush her hair from her face and then say, "I love you."

I know she feels it too; this love and dread. This suffocating feeling of uncertainty that is dancing around us. This could be it; the last moment we get to stand together like this. She goes to reply, and I place my finger gently to her lips.

"Shhh," I murmur. "Don't say it until I see you again."

She nods, and then we press our foreheads together as we bask in the forgiving light of the Georgian sun.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Thanks to those who took time to give me feedback upon reading. This is a short filler.

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

I watch as she drives by me. She sounds the horn on the rental car twice, and offers me a wave. I raise my hand in response and let a small smile play on my features; it does not reach my eyes. It is more for show; it is for Michonne. I hope she returns to me quickly.

…..

5:30 AM

My alarm sounds, but I am lying here awake. I reach my hand over to where Michonne was not too long ago sleeping. Her newly claimed spot is empty. My head begins to hurt. I turn the alarm off and close my eyes. I picture her face.

…..

12:47 PM

This sandwich I am nursing is soggy. Spencer probably spat in it, or worse. I sigh loudly and then toss the food into the trash. I turn my head side-to-side to get the creaks out of my neck, and then smooth down my clothing. Squinting into the midday sun, I step toward the bank, reminding myself to berate my driver when he returns to pick me up.

…..

1:30 PM

Spencer looks like a scolded child. I chided him as soon as I climbed into the car.

I should just put a bullet in his head right now. I make a finger gun with my hand and aim it at him.

 _Bang,_ I mouth. I then smile crookedly to myself.

If only it was that easy.

…..

3:50 PM

I check my phone for what must be the hundredth time today. Still no word from Michonne. I know she only left yesterday, but I am feeling her absence so profoundly. The monotony of my day without her is fucking stifling. The uncertainty of whether or not I will see her again is suffocating.

…..

4:00 PM

Still no word.

I sigh loudly.

My head hurts.

…..

6:38 PM

The kitchen is dimly lit. I take my evening meal here instead of in the dining room. It is smaller. It feels less empty. The food I am chewing, and swallowing forcefully, has lost its warmth and its taste. I push the half-empty plate away, and then wipe my mouth with a napkin. I stand, toss the napkin on the table, and then walk away. There are no messages on my phone from her.

…..

9:40 PM

I sit in my father's study, at his large desk, and sip from my whiskey. The crumpled photograph I have of Michonne sits atop the desk. I stare down at her face. _So_ _beautiful_. I wonder if I will ever see her again.

 _Don't be so fucking dramatic, Grimes._

I'm sure I'll see her when I go to trial.

…..

10:36 PM

It is dark and warm in my room. I don't turn the air conditioner on yet; I prefer the way the summer night makes my skin damp with sweat. It is the same way I feel when Michonne is near, with my nakedness pressed against her glistening form.

 _She is exquisite_.

I close my eyes and picture her, writhing on top of me. Her big brown eyes that bore into mine; her full lips moaning my name. The way her lips taste when I capture them with my own.

 _Fuck_.

I feel myself grow hard at the thought of her. When I remember how sweet she is; how tight she is. How wet she gets for me.

I slide my hand into my shorts and find my cock already rigid and firm; I bite my bottom lip and begin to stroke. I imagine my hand is her perfect sex swallowing up my length as I make love to her.

 _Hmmmm_

My hand pumps faster as I pay attention to the crown of my prick, coated in precum.

 _"Fuck. Michonne_ ," I breathe as I withdraw my erection from my shorts.

It stands on its own, defiant in the still of the night; thick and swollen for her. Dripping and throbbing for her. Ready to erupt for her.

 _Aaaahhh hmmm fuck._

I work my hand over my shaft harder and faster. I rub my cock raw as each stroke brings me closer to my release. I am moaning her name as I feel my dick trembling in my hand.

 _Oh god, Michonne_.

I jerk my stiffness with more fervor, unaware of how much time has gone by; content to pleasure myself while thinking of her. My calloused hand drawing delicious delights from my sensitive sex. All the while, I picture her straddling me. Riding me.

 _Fuckkkk_ _Michonne._

My breathing is labored as I moan and grunt, imaging that she is grinding on top of me. Taking my length deep into her womb; fucking me. Sweat rolls down my brow and dots my face; I taste it when I lick my lips.

 _Hmmmmm I'm close._

 _So_

 _Fucking_

 _Close_

I call her name once more and let my over me. My climax finds me while I hold my big, jolting dick in my hand. My red tip disgorges thick spurts of sticky semen. I drain my aching knob as cum drips down my shaft, and onto my knuckles.

 _"Fuck_ ," I curse, as another steady stream gushes from my cock and lands on my bare abdomen. I keep my eyes closed while I milk what is left of my seed and picture my beautiful Michonne. Sated and sleepy, I hope I dream of her tonight.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

He waits for me to leave. He doesn't have to, but he does. Chivalrous in his own way. Again, making me wish we had known each other in a different life, at another time. I sound the horn twice and wave at him; he returns the gesture with a smile. My own lips curl up at the corner as I drive slowly by, hoping this is not the last time I'll see Rick Grimes.

…..

5:00 AM

The sterile hotel room is like so many I have stayed in before. It is against protocol for me to return to my actual residence; the one that no one, aside from my team knows about. It is not far from here, actually. It's been almost a year since I stepped inside. The last time I was there, I cried for Mike. I haven't cried for him in a while, now. Maybe I should cry for myself since I don't know what the day will have in store for me; what my superiors will have in store for me. I have three hours before I need to make my way to the Washington Field Office. I roll out of bed and search for the room service breakfast menu, even though I haven't got an appetite. I wonder if Rick is awake yet.

...

5:45 AM

The warmth of shower washes over me as I wring my washcloth and drape it over the top of the glass barrier. The suds slide down my body and disappear down the drain. I grab my bar of soap and bring it between my legs as I lather up my folds. I rinse it, and then place the bar back to the plastic case that sits atop the small metal holder. I bring my hand back to my womanhood and continue to clean myself.

My fingers brush my hooded clit, sending a brief, but delicious sensation spreading from my core to the rest of my body. It feels good; I think of Rick and how his fingers feel when he is playing with my sex. My bud throbs and I feel my nipples stiffen at the thought of him.

Water runs down my arm and pools in my hand as I wash the soapiness away from my pussy. I bring my free hand to my breast, twisting the hard nipple, as I begin to massage my clit. I slip a finger inside of my opening, knowing I am fast becoming aroused. I trail the wetness up to my nub and continue to rub. I coax my clit from its hood and let out a soft moan.

 _Damn._

I wish these were Rick's fingers right now. I widen my stance slightly and slide my fingers into my pussy; I use my thumb against my clit as I roll my hips.

 _Shit_. There's nowhere for me to prop my leg, or even get into a good position. And I want to get off right now. _Fuck_. I want to come.

I withdraw my fingers, and then turn off the shower, quickly finding a towel and drying myself. I make my way to bed, and then climb on top of it. Kneeling a moment, I rub and pinch my nipples again, before leaning forward, spreading my legs apart, and reaching my hand down between them.

I imagine I am sitting on top of Rick. I am throbbing at the thought of him. I use my finger to ease the aching of my clit. My breath hitches as I roll my hips once more.

 _Hmmm_

I ease my ass backwards and then slip my fingers between my swollen lips. _Fuck_. I'm so aroused. I imagine my fingers are Rick's big, hard cock as I make them rigid and slide my dripping wet pussy up and down. As I rock back and forth, I feel my juicing dripping down my hand. My sex makes this sucking sound each time it is impaled. My tits bounce just like they do when Rick is fucking me from behind.

 _Ohhhh fuck_.

My clit is ripe; I brush my thumb against it again, and nearly lose what little composure I have left. My toes begin to curl and a warmth swirls below my navel. I lean on my free arm and bury my face into the pillow as I reach the apex of my pleasure. I come all over my fingers, just like I would if it were Rick's glistening, veiny cock. When I withdraw the sodden digits, I feel as empty as I do when he is absent.

...

8:03 AM

I step through the large glass doors at the Field Office. A few people are making their way to the security checkpoint. I head toward the reception area. A man sits behind the bulletproof glass; he wears a headset and a neutral expression.

"How can I help?" he asks. His inflection is neither amicable nor stern. I give him my false detail and my alias: Emm Pearson.

"I am here to see SSA Carol Peletier," I add.

He enters my details into the screen in front of him, and then asks, "Do you have an appointment?" Knowing full well it has been confirmed on his monitor that I do.

"Yes," I reply. "I do."

He taps the side of his headset, and then speaks into it, while searching for something under the desktop. Soon thereafter, he retrieves a lanyard and card and slides them under the glass barrier to me.

"This is your visitors pass; go through the security screening area to your left, and someone will meet you on the other side."

With that, he looks past me to the person in line behind me. I do as I am directed while thinking how ridiculous this whole farce is, and admitting that I am tired.

...

8:30 AM

Finally seated in the waiting area. It took longer than I thought it would to get through the security area. I never really worked here when the Bureau first recruited me. I came for the initial interview, and to do some of the required paperwork, but that's it. All of my debriefings were completed at whichever Field Office was in the jurisdiction of my assignment. Being called here has me nervous, I will admit. And the Chief is taking her fucking time.

...

9:06 AM

I've been sitting in this interview room for a little while now. The flickering of the overhead light is quite irritating. All of this government funding and they can't get someone from maintenance to change the bulb? I sigh. I am tired of this.

I wonder what it would be like to live a normal life? If I were really an accountant, and Rick was really a farmer. I wonder what it would be like for us. Would our paths even cross?

Would he still be as intense as he is now? I imagine what his handsome face would look like if he smiled a lot more. If there was a spark of happiness in his beautiful eyes. If there was no pain and anger and rage bubbling just under the surface. If the darkness didn't shroud him like the night sky blankets the earth below. Would we be happy together?

I smile to myself. I think we would. Even now, as I sit and await my fate, thoughts of Rick bring me joy. In the midst of all of this uncertainty and danger, I know one thing is as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, and that is Rick Grimes makes me happy. In spite of all of his pain and anger and rage, I think there is happiness in him.

Just as I look at my phone and think about breaking protocol to call him, Supervisory Special Agent Peletier steps into the room.

"Agent Bourdain," she greets flatly. "I have some troubling news."


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. I appreciate your support. Welcome, new followers. Enjoy!

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

5:37 AM

I awaken to an empty bed, like I have done many times in the past few years. The emptiness, crawling and clawing from the cradle, used to lodge itself inside my heart and soul, or vice versa; I was not sure which influenced the other. And for a while now, that hollow feeling has been filled by Michonne. By her presence and wit; by her beauty and outright sex appeal. By her goodness and kindness.

How can one person make a monster, a shell of a man like me feel something again? Even now, as I lie in bed alone, longing for her, wondering what is happening with her, I feel better than I have in years. Despite the headache that is settling in, I feel _something_ other than a deadening.

 _I miss her_. I went to bed missing her; I woke up missing her. I sit up and reach for my phone to check the time. She will be awake right now, I know it. I open my contacts list, and find her pseudonym. My thumb hovers over the name of Emm Pearson. I know she said to wait until she reached out to me, but how can I? Especially when I need to hear her calming voice to wash away the dull pain in my temple, and the slight wrenching of my heart. I call her, and wait.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

The lotion feels cool on my skin, as I apply a generous amount to my shaven legs. My shower was quick. I need to get back to the Field Office today and deal with this mess that I am in. It will most likely take a day to look over the information, and then formulate a plan with which I can proceed. Well, that is what I am hoping for. SSA Peletier may very well pull me off the case entirely, though I don't think the States Attorney wants that at all.

I rub the remaining lotion into my palms just as my phone starts to vibrate. I pick it up, and look at the screen: It's Rick. My heart skips a beat. I know I'm not supposed to break protocol, but I find myself swiping and answering his call.

"Hello?" I say softly, as if my superiors might hear me.

"Hello," he says, sounding almost relieved. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not meant to reach out to you…"

"No, it's okay," I reply. "I wanted to talk to you, too."

"I've missed you," he admits.

His tone is deep and gravelly; there are still remnants of sleep laced through it. His southern drawl is more pronounced than usual. I love his voice. I have missed hearing it.

"Me, too," I answer truthfully.

He lets out a small breath, before chuckling and saying, "That's a relief. Is everything okay?"

"Yes," I reply. "I'm fine, I can't say much else."

"I understand," he offers. "Will you be comin' back to me?"

"Yeah," I say, but not at all confidently.

"That doesn't sound convincing," he retorts.

"I'll know later today," I amend.

"All right," he answers. "Can you let me know when you find out?"

"Of course," I offer sincerely. "I can do that."

"Thank you," says Rick. The softness of his tone makes my heart feel full. And just like that, his tone changes. "I really, _really_ miss you. What are you wearing?"

A wicked smirk creeps over my face. He is insatiable.

"Just a robe," I say, as I lean back on the bed.

"Hmmm," he moans into the phone. "And you got nothin' on underneath?"

"That's right, nothing," I respond playfully, enjoying and anticipating where this is leading.

"Well, go ahead and open that robe up," he instructs, and I do as I am told.

"Yes, Daddy," I reply. "What do you want me to do now?"

"Touch yourself for me," he orders.

"Where?"

"Your nipples."

"Okay," I say, before running my fingers over my bare tits. My nipples grow stiff. I close my eyes and imagine it's him.

"Are they hard yet?" he asks, his voice deep from arousal.

"Hmm, yes," I whisper.

"Pinch them for me," he commands; I do as he asks, rolling the dark little bud between my fingers. I do this for a while, feeling myself become more and more aroused. The sensation causes my pussy to pulse. "How does it feel?"

"It feels amazing," I reply. "I'm getting wet."

"Hmmmm, baby," he offers. "How wet?"

"Dripping," I answer.

"Fuck," he moans. "Go on and touch that pussy for me."

I lie down, open my legs, and bring my hand between them. I palm my lips, before slipping a finger in. I am ripe for him; I thumb my clit and let out a moan.

"How does that feel?" he asks, his breathing becoming labored.

"It feels great," I reply, as I put him on speaker, and bring the phone to my pussy. "Listen."

I slide my fingers in and out, as my moist sex makes a sucking noise. It sounds as wet as it feels. I can hear him cursing and moaning as I hasting my movements.

"Oh, shit," I cry out, while fingering myself and imagining that it's Rick who is ravaging me. I hope he can hear the wet slapping sound as my hand smashes against my pussy. I bring the phone back to my mouth and start to breathe heavily as I continue my attentions.

"Hmm, fuck," he says. "That sounds so good. This dick is so hard for you right now."

My clit is aching as I imagine him strumming his big, thick cock right now. I keep ramming, and rubbing, and moaning for him, before saying, "I wish I had your hard dick in my mouth."

"Fuck," he growls. "You're so fuckin' sexy. I wish I was inside you right now."

"Hmmmm," I reply, fingering myself harder. "Me, too."

His breathing becomes quicker, then he says, "I'm close, baby; I want you to come for me. I need you to come for me."

"I will," I promise, as I pay attention to my throbbing bud. " _Oh_ , god. I will."

My eyes roll shut, and I bite my lip while grinding against my hand.

"Imagine it's me fuckin' you right now," he says.

"Yes, Daddy."

"I'm gonna fuck you as soon as I see you," he promised. "Is that what you… _ahhhh. Hmmmm_ …is that what you want?"

"Yes, please," I say, as I feel my climax approaching. "Fuck me as soon as you see me again."

I withdraw my soaked fingers and rub them vigorously over my clit. My body starts to shake as that familiar warmth spreads through it; I come hard and loudly as I drop the phone beside me. I hear Rick's moans escaping the speaker of the phone as my orgasm pulses through my core.

After a moment of catching my breath, I reach for the device once more, and ask, "Did you come?"

Rick lets out a little laugh at the other end, before breathlessly answering, "Yeah, beautiful; I did."

"Me, too," I offer, wiping the beads of sweat from my brow.

"I love you," he breathes; all of his lust is gone, and only adoration is left in his tone. And I want to say it back to him, with everything that is in me, I want to tell him how deeply I care about him.

"I…"

"Shhh," he says, before I can finish. "You don't have to."

And just like that, I am almost relieved, because if I do say those words, it means I am changed. _We_ are changed, and things cannot go back to how they were. I think he feels that as well. I think he senses it, and maybe he is afraid, too, because I don't see how we can make a life for ourselves beyond what we have in this moment: Him panting at one end of the line, me trembling at the other. What we have is all we _can_ have, and I should enjoy it for what it is.

I steady my breathing, and then say, "I…"

"Michonne," he says softly.

"I will see you soon."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The week has passed uneventfully, though I've been missing Michonne. Her trip to visit with her superiors, though short, feels much longer in duration. I can't wait to see her; she advised me, much to my relief, that she'll be traveling home today. We plan to meet at the rendezvous point where the exchange will take place. Spencer, Abe, Ty, and I are making our way there now; some of my other people are following behind us in the van. I would have liked to arrive with Michonne, but it can't be helped; I will be there on time, and she will arrive shortly after.

Spencer has been shadowing me, as well as driving for me, this past week. It's as annoying as I thought it would be. His face just irks me. We have shared little conversation; he is content to quietly do as I ask and follow what my two offsiders do. He looks like he's missing Michonne, too.

We come to a stop at the designated meeting place, a bar of some sort, and I see two vehicles parked outside. Both appear to be rentals. We pull up next to them, and Abe taps me on the shoulder.

"I'll check 'em out, Boss," he says, before climbing out of the car; Ty follows, and checks the surrounding area.

I watch as he examines the stationary vehicles, like I have seen him do on countless occasions. He walks around both cars and checks them out. After nodding to Ty, Abe looks to me and gestures for me to approach. I look at Spencer and say, "Wait here."

The two men flank me, keeping their keen eyes trained on the surrounds, as we step up to the door of the small bar. I knock thrice, as instructed, and I am soon met by the one known as Simon.

"Hey there, Grimes," he greets, with his deranged smile. "You're right on time. Your old lady's already here."

"What?" I ask, as I try to glance past him.

"These fine gentlemen are gonna have to wait outside, Grimes," he says, ignoring my question. I can't even focus on that right now; Michonne is here.

"Where is she?" I ask, staring into his eyes; Abe and Ty lift their weapons slightly.

"Hey, now," says Simon, raising his hands. "The little lady is fine. She's here enjoying a game of..."

I do not wait to be invited inside. I push past him, ignoring his protests, and trudge into the foyer, my hand on my sidearm. Just then, Michonne steps from out of one of the doors. I feel relief wash over me as she offers me a sweet smile, and says, "Babe, let the man do his job."

I let out a deep breath, and then raise my hands a little; Simon takes my gun, and then pats me down. When he is happy that I am not concealing any more weapons, he hands it back to me and then smiles.

"Let's see that merchandise," he says.

I go to Michonne, take hold of her hand, and then I whistle out to Abe.

"So, where are we actually doin' this?" I ask, after kissing Michonne's temple; God, I've missed her.

"Through here," Simon offers, as he walks into the doorway where Michonne exited.

Abe comes to the main entrance and asks, "You ready, Boss?"

"Yeah," I reply. "Bring the stuff through here."

After we step inside, I see that it's a small room. The faint smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol permeate the space. There is a short bar at one end, and a few tables and chairs at the other; a jukebox leans against the far wall, and a pool table stands in the middle. The balls are littered across the table; someone was playing.

"What are you doin' here before me?" I whisper to Michonne, as we take the seats that Simon offers.

"I got back early," she replies, in equally as hushed tones.

"What happened?" I query. Soon, Ty and Abe step in carrying one of the cases; my other men follow them.

"I'll tell you later," she answers, as we watch them place the cases on the bar, tables, and floor.

She kisses my hand, lets go of it, and then stands. She saunters over to the pool table, picks up a cue, and takes a shot. I watch her. Simon watches her. My men keep bringing in the merchandise, opening the cases for our buyer to see. Michonne eyes me as she leans forward to line up another shot; her short dress creeps up slightly, and I swallow hard. I swear she's doing this on purpose. How can one woman be so sexy?

 _Fuck_. I've missed her. I am already hard.

"So it's all here?" Simon asks, drawing my attention away from Michonne.

I narrow my eyes and stare at him.

"Yes," I answer. "Where's Negan?"

"Waiting for me to pick him up with the cash," he says, before stepping over to where Michonne is. He tilts his head and takes in her appearance. "You wanna come with me to count the money?"

I feel my blood boil when he speaks to her.

"She stays with me," I say brusquely, before she can reply. "You can go on your own."

"All right," he rejoinders. "Just thought I'd ask."

I am tired of his presence already.

"As a matter of fact, everyone needs to go," I demand, of both my men, and Simon. "And don't come back in until Negan gets here with my fuckin' money."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I love his tone when he is in command. Rick glances at me, like he wants to devour me, and I peer back at him. The room grows quiet as Simon and the others leave us alone, and Rick shifts to lock the door behind them. He then turns to me. No words are exchanged between us. His officious ways turn me on. I lean against the pool table, and offer him a questioning, seductive glare.

"We don't have much time," he says. I know what he is saying, as I remember his promise from the other day. The desire is pulsating between my thighs. His expression, feeding my hunger. His stare, causing my eager sex to become moist. I feel my arousal dripping from between my engorged lips, seeping back to the crevice of my ass. I am wet. Wet and throbbing, waiting keenly for Rick to fill me with his big, hard cock.

"I've missed you," he whispers as he approaches; his inflection is low, husky.

"I've missed you, too," is my reply.

Wasting no more time, I capture his lips with mine. We do not savor in the moment, as I hastily turn my body, so that my ass is facing his firm, rigid erection. He hikes my dress up, and palms my backside; his hand snakes between my legs. I widen my stance as he rubs the fabric of my flimsy undergarment. I love how he touches me with such confidence; he is so commanding. He pushes me forward, bending me over the table. Then, with one swift and forceful movement, he tears my panties from me before casting them aside; the pulsing between my legs intensifies. I turn back to look at him. His eyes are the darkest blue I have ever seen.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

Hmmm, that's better. I lift her right leg, and place it atop the edge of the pool table. Her sweet pussy is on display; her pinkness framed by luscious, swollen lips, waiting for me to claim her. I lean down to capture her mouth with mine, as I reach my hand around to play with her clit.

 _Fuck. A few days has been far too long._

She moans against my lips and my dick jumps inside of my boxer shorts. I break our kiss and bite into her shoulder, before swirling my tongue over her smooth skin. I slip two fingers inside of her, and am blessed with a seductive mewl.

"You like that?" I ask, as I slide in and out.

"I love it," she replies, as she draws the top of her dress down, and massages her tits. I take my free hand and help her; her nipple stiffens under my touch.

We share another kiss, and I continue to finger her, before I whisper in her ear, "You drive me wild, Michonne."

"Hmmm," she moans.

"I'm so fuckin' hard right now," I tell her.

"Well hurry up and fuck me like you promised," she says.

I let out a laugh; I have met my match with her. I withdraw my soaked fingers from between her swollen lips, and begin to undo my belt and zipper. I don't care that we are here on business. I need her right now. And I will have her.

"How bad do you want it?" I ask, as I draw my trousers and boxers down, and take hold of my stiffness.

"So bad," she murmurs, as she slips her fingers between her legs, giving me a perfect view from behind. I cup my large, dripping tip in my fist, and stroke a few times, as I watch her slender finger dip into her pussy before she trails her juices up to her clit.

 _Fuck._ She's gonna make me come before I even get to touch her.

"You sure you're wet enough for me?" I tease.

"Yes," she moans.

"Say it," I command.

"I'm so wet, Daddy," she replies.

" _Fuck,"_ I breathe, and my dick quivers. I stroke my manhood, and shift nearer to her. My length, craving to drive deep into her divine, drenched sex, inches closer. I take her hand, and she ceases her ministrations. I bring her fingers to my mouth and suck them clean, as I ready myself to enter her.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

"Hurry," I plead. My womb is longing to be filled with his white, hot seed. My clit, aching for his attention.

He takes his dick, and rubs his smooth crown against my slit; drawing my juices up from my opening, to my ass. He rubs, again and yet again. His purple head glistening from my moist center. He dips it between my slickened folds, before massaging my pulsing clit with the tip of his sex. After a moment, he slides his manhood inside of me, as he grabs hold of my right arm, and draws it backwards; I place my hand on my ass, and look back at him. He uses his strong left hand to grasp my throat as he begins to thrust.

 _Fuck._

No matter how many times we're together, I am never really ready for the feeling of his length inside of me. He is massive. I am filled by his thick cock.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he says. "You're so tight.

He draws my head backwards, cupping my jaw while he presses a messy kiss to my mouth. He moans loudly as he drills deeper inside of me.

" _Aaahhhh, shit_ ," he says.

His free hand grabs my breast, while he thrusts wildly. His hardness filling me as he breathes heavily.

"Fuck, Michonne," he whimpers, as he rolls my erect nipple between his thumb and fingers. He sucks the skin on my neck as he fucks me relentlessly. My pussy is throbbing. It feels so good as he drives himself inside of me. His hard sex hits my spot. I close my eyes while he fills me. The blue veins bulging on his thick, red cock are coated with my arousal. Drenched by my hot, tight wetness.

"Oh, fuck," I exhale. "Rick, oh… _oh Rick._ "

He draws his length out of my opening for a moment; his head dipping just inside, before he slides between my folds once more. He reaches his fingers around and strums my aching clit as he fucks me. He fucks me so hard; he fucks me good.

 _Oh fuck._ I love it when he fucks me.

My legs are weak as he impales me; his hand, once again, firm against my throat. His tongue, lapping at my neck. His moans, deep, laden with desire; his grunts, animal-like and full of need. He hits my spot again, as I feel my walls weaken; my nub, throbbing. His hot, veiny, prick is raw and unforgiving as he fucks me senseless. I feel myself clenching around him. The heat swirling in the pit of my stomach.

 _Ahhhh, ahh, ahh ahhhhhhh_

I'm close now, I'm so… _hmmmmm fuck_ , I'm so close.

 _"Rick,"_ I cry.

"Come for me," he urges, as he hastens his thrusts.

My orgasm rips through me, as I come all over his impossibly hard dick. Soon thereafter, he grunts, and then releases his seed in a steady stream, squirting from the tip of his round, gleaming head. Spurts of cum pouring from his throbbing tip. His sex, red and soaked and quivering. He leaves his dripping, sopping-wet cock inside of my well-fucked little pussy as we each fight to regain our composure.

Cum runs down between my thigh as he removes his manhood and holds me close from behind. The sticky, white fluid a stark contrast to my dark skin. He urges me to turn and face him; we share another kiss before we steady our breathing. He smooths my hair down, as he kisses my brow. We hold one another's gaze before he draws my body flush against his, and whispers proclamations of love into my ear.

"God, Michonne," he says, short of breath and quivering. "I love you."

Before I can reply and tell him I feel the same, there is a loud, impatient knocking at the door.

…..

 _Confidential Case File #3240_

 _Type: Mission Debrief Interview Transcript_

 _Subject: Michonne Bourdain, Special Agent, FBI's Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch_

 _Current Status: Active_

 _Classification: Deep Undercover Operative_

 _Interviewer: Supervisory Special Agent Carol Peletier_

 _SSA Peletier (P): This interview is being recorded. State your name and credentials for the record._

 _SA Bourdain (B): Special Agent Michonne Bourdain, undercover operative with the FBI's Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch._

 _P: Agent Bourdain, your real name has been flagged in our system. An unauthorised search of it has been conducted recently._

 _B: I see. Do we know the source?_

 _P: Negative. Do you understand what this means?_

 _B: Yes, ma'am; my undercover status may have been compromised._


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Thank you to all of those who read and reviewed. Let's check in with our faves…

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

"You should go get cleaned up," I say to Michonne as I fix myself back into my pants and look toward the door. The knocking persists; she does as I advise while I straighten my clothing and then go to see who it is. As soon as I unlock the door, Spencer is standing there looking, for want of a better description, fuckin' stupid.

"What?" I ask, blocking his way.

"Here," he says, holding the bag that contains the machine we use to count the money. "You left this in the car. I thought Emm might need it."

I take it from him, and then slam the door in his face without another word. I place the bag down on the table, and then retrieve the device. After plugging the lead into the socket, I switch it on. Soon, Michonne steps out of the adjoining bathroom. She comes to me and I wrap my arms around her waist.

"You sure everything is okay?" I ask, searching her eyes.

"Yes," she answers, resting her head to my shoulder and nuzzling close to my neck. "Everything's okay."

I wish we could stay like this forever, alone and wrapped in one another's embrace. We remain like that for a while. I breathe in the scent of her hair; she breathes softly, delicately. The world spins around us, and for that brief moment, we are the only two people inhabiting it. Soon, our solitude is broken when Negan and Simon return.

"Shit," he says, as Michonne and I draw apart. "I hope I'm not interrupting your romantic moment with this arms deal."

"You're late," I say, reluctantly stepping away from Michonne, and over to Negan.

"Sorry about that," he replies with a grin. "I do like to make an entrance."

"Have you got the cash?" Michonne asks, stepping forward.

"Hello to you, too, darlin'," he offers. I don't like the way he looks at her; I take hold of her hand.

"Negan," I warn. "The money?"

"Got it right there," he says, gesturing toward Simon, who then holds up a briefcase.

"Bring it over here," Michonne advises; she is happy to see the note counter atop the small table, all ready for the transaction. She lets go of my hand, and proceeds to saunter over to where the machine is set up. As she takes a seat, Simon places the case down. "It's all here?"

"Yes," Simon replies.

"Forgive me if I don't take your word for it," she answers with a smile.

"You're forgiven," he says, taking a seat opposite her. She removes the money and begins to place it in the machine. I watch their exchange; Negan watches me.

"Simon likes your old lady," he says, as he comes to stand next to me. I know he is trying to get a reaction from me; I bite my tongue. We have a job to do.

"Not that I blame him," Negan adds with a whistle. "She is somethin' else."

"You think we could do this without the small talk?" I ask, keeping my eyes on Michonne.

"We could," he replies. "But I'm trying to get to know you, Rick. I know nothin' about you, other than what I've heard."

Now I turn to look at him, before I query, "What's to know? I'm just tryin' to take care of business here."

"So, we're both business men," he laughs; I am certain he is unhinged.

"Honestly, I don't know anything about you," I say, engaging him in this conversation he is so adamant in having. "You know what business I'm in, and I don't know the first thing about yours."

"So you _do_ wanna get to know me?" he exclaims, almost excitedly. "Well shit; ain't that just swell?"

"I'd like to know the basics, I suppose," I offer flatly. "If we're gonna keep this business arrangement goin', we should at least know the basics. I assume you'll be wanting more merchandise after this?"

"You assume right," he replies, licking his lips.

"So, what do you need this much firepower for?" I question him straightforwardly. "What have you got planned for it?"

"I like you, Rick," he says, patting a hand against my shoulder briefly; I tense up. "But I can't talk about that here…"

"Your man checked us over," I say, trying to urge him on. "This is your place; it's safe to talk openly."

"You make a good point, Rick," he offers in response. He has a glazed over look in his eyes when he smiles; I supply him with a small, crooked grin in return. I don't like him, but I will get him to talk one way or another if it means Michonne won't have to. "So how about I _show_ you what I need it for?"

"When and where?" I ask. I am still a little suspicious of his seeming forthrightness.

"Maybe in a day or two?" he queries. "You and your lovely lady might like to join me at another one of my places? Give you a clearer understanding of my plan?"

I glance over at Michonne; she and Simon are chatting away, oblivious to what Negan and I are discussing. He wants to let us in, it seems. Half of me is paranoid that he wants to get us alone, away from my people, and do us harm. The other half of me knows that this is the opportunity we were hoping for.

"Okay," I answer, with a nod of my head. "Let's meet again, in a day or two."

…..

"Seems a damn shame to have to surrender all of the money from this latest sale," I say while leaning against the countertop in the guest house kitchen. Michonne gives me a questioning stare.

"Did you secure it?" she asks.

"Of course," I reply, as I make my way over to where she is sitting at the table. She has her laptop, and the note counting machine out. Using a small screwdriver, Michonne removes the battery panel at the back. I watch curiously, before asking, "Do you think it worked?"

She gives me an uncertain look and then answers, "I hope so."

Upon removing the panel, she takes out a USB lead that is connected to the device, and hooks it up to her computer. After making a few selections, and typing something in, I hear the faint sound of voices coming from her speakers.

"It's grainy," she says, turning up the volume. "But I can make out what we're saying."

I listen carefully, and find she is right: The note-counter-turned-recording-device actually worked. Though the words were slightly distorted from the sound of the money being counted, you can definitely hear what she and Simon were talking about.

Simon: _It sure is a lot of money._

Michonne: _Well, that's a lot of guns._

Simon: _You're not wrong._

Michonne: _What do you need all of them for?_

Simon: _Salvation._

Michonne: _Salvation?_

Simon: _We're Saviors, little lady; it's kind of what we do..._

After clicking something on her laptop to stop the recording, she smiles at me.

"Rick," she offers happily. "I think this is actually going to work."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

The cold shower was just what I needed. The day has been long for me. I step into Rick's room, and am a little startled to see him sitting on the bed, since I left him earlier with his men. He appears to be tired, though he gives me a warm smile.

"Hey," I say, while taking up a seat beside him.

"Hey," he replies, placing a hand to my bare knee.

"You okay?" I ask, a little concerned by his odd demeanor. He is quiet and subdued. I recognize it as worry.

"I'm sorry we didn't get time to talk about what happened while you were away," he says. "Do you think we can now?"

"Sure," I offer, with a little smile. "I don't want you to worry…"

"I care about you, more than anyone or anything. Of course I'm gonna worry about you," he interjects. I entwine my fingers with his. He's so sweet. How can he be so sweet when I _know_ how bad he is? I have come to accept that it is the way he is. It is what I find attractive about him: The duality.

I beam at him as my heart swells, before taking a deep breath and admitting, "Someone ran a search on my name, my _real_ name. My undercover status may have been compromised."

I watch as his eyes narrow and the vein in his temple pop out. He's angry. I can see it. I can feel it radiating from him. He sighs audibly before bringing the back of his hand to his mouth. He wipes at his lips, lets go of my hand, and then stands.

"Someone knows you're a Fed?" he asks, as he begins to pace.

"Maybe," I offer. "We're not actually sure how much information they accessed…"

"Was it your full name?"

"I…I'm not sure," I admit. "I was just informed by my superiors that my name was flagged. Why?"

"Deanna has connections," he says, stopping still a moment. "If the search was done of your _full_ name, it might not have been her contacts in law enforcement. If it was just your _first_ name, it was probably her."

"A search of my first name wouldn't bring anything up," I say. "If someone Googles me, results won't show up; but a law enforcement database search absolutely flags my name, so, in general, I don't exist anymore."

"You see how that's gonna be a problem if it _was_ Deanna?" he asks as realization sets in.

"Yes," I reply. "It's going to look suspicious if she finds nothing at all."

"Right," Rick stated. "If she found some kind of evidence that a Michonne exists, then that's fair enough; but nothing? That's going to make her _more_ curious."

"Or she might think it doesn't mean anything," I offer.

"Nah," he answers. "She's not like that; she's not one to just let something go like that. She'll be intrigued; she'll want to dig deeper. What else did they say in DC? Was it flagged in their system or in general?"

"It's flagged in our system," I explain. "Any time someone searches for my name in any law enforcement database, my handler is notified. It keeps me protected while I'm UC."

Suddenly, he falls silent in contemplation. His expression is serious, like always; but there is something behind his stare. If I didn't know any better, I would say it was a hint of panic.

"Fuck," says Rick, as he begins to pace again. "We have something else to worry about, then."

I think for a moment, and then it all adds up. I understand what he is saying.

"The dossier you have on me," I say. "It wasn't flagged when your contact accessed my information."

"That's right," he says, kneeling down in front of me. "And that can only mean one thing: Someone _inside_ the Bureau must have sold you out."

"Why would they do that?" I ask. "I'm one of their assets; their _agent_."

"How else would my contact get your information, then, without them being alerted?"

"I don't know," I offer, not wanting to believe what this means.

"And why haven't you been pulled from assignment?"

I shrug. I honestly have no answers.

"Someone _wants_ you here," he says softly, running his hands up and down my thighs. "And they _want_ for you to be discovered…"

"You're being paranoid, Rick," I say, before standing and moving away from him.

"Am I, though?" he retorts, following behind me.

"It doesn't make sense," I say. "Why would someone from the FBI want to jeopardize _this_ case and put me in danger?"

"I don't know," he answers, taking hold of my shoulders and turning me around to face him. "But I won't let them hurt you."

He cups my face and then traces his thumb over my bottom lip. I exhale as dread washes over me and my stomach starts to sink.

"If what you're saying is true," I say somberly. "Then there's not much you can do to protect me, Rick."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

It's dark in my bedroom, save for the light from my cell phone. It's only just on midnight, and Michonne is snoring softly beside me. She's had a big couple of days. She must be exhausted. I'm so happy that she's back here with me. No one is going to ruin that for me, not right now. And I absolutely, positively do not care _who_ they are. I find the contact I am looking for, and then call them. I listen to the ringtone, and then the voicemail message: _This is Morgan Jones. Leave your details, and I'll get back to you._

"It's Rick," I say quietly. "I need to see you. It's urgent."

I end the call, place the phone back to the nightstand, and then lie back down in bed. I draw the covers over my naked lower half, and try not to rouse Michonne. It seems I have failed.

"Rick?" she whispers, her voice heavy from slumber.

"Shhh," I offer. "Go back to sleep."

She reaches for me, and takes hold of my hand, before wrapping my arm over her; she interlocks our fingers. Her back is to my chest; her ass is pressed against my dick.

"I can't," she offers, inching back closer to me.

"You need rest," I say, kissing her shoulder. "Try to."

"I'm not tired anymore," she pouts; she's being playful.

"What do you need me to do?" I query, kissing her neck.

"Help me out," she supplies, before bringing our hands down between her legs. We both rub her pussy with our entwined fingers. She grows moist quickly; almost as quickly as my dick gets hard.

I kiss her neck again and then whisper in her ear, "Hmmm, baby. So wet."

We both keep massaging her. She lets out a moan when I slip my fingers inside. I withdraw them and then focus on her clit; she stops her own ministrations.

"Don't stop," I command, as I bring her hand back to her sex. I press her fingers to her tiny bud, and then lift her leg. I slip my hand between her thighs, and find her dripping little pussy once more, before saying, "Rub that clit for me."

She does as she is told, while I pump two fingers inside of her slickened folds from behind.

"Ahhh, shit," she whimpers as I hasten my movements and go deeper. She matches my pace and thumbs her clit faster. Her juices drizzle down onto my hand as she rolls her hips, strums her clit, and is finger fucked by me.

"Come for me," I order, as I continue to impale her. I bite down on her shoulder a moment. "Come for me, hard."

"Hmmm, yes, Daddy," she replies, while grinding that ass on my big hard dick. I can feel her pussy walls clenching around my soaked fingers; I know she's creaming all over my hand. Her hips buck, and she lets out a little cry, before she comes.

I waste no time in shifting my position so that I am now kneeling between her legs. She is still coming on my fingers when I withdraw them, and put them in her mouth. She moans as she licks them clean. She keeps sucking them as I take my thick, veiny cock and slide it between her tight, sweet lips.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

 _Ohhh, god._

He brings my legs up over his shoulders and drives his dick into me. Hard and fast. Without mercy. My clit is still throbbing, and I feel like I'm going to explode each time he strikes it. My legs already feel weak. I've been pinned, and pummelling into this mattress for goodness knows how long. I've already come for the second time, but he won't let up. He grunts and keeps giving me the dick.

 _Fuck. This man knows how to fuck._

"Oh, Rick," I cry loudly. "Oh, shit."

"Fuck, baby," he moans. "You feel so fuckin' good. Hmmm, you're such a good girl for taking this."

He lets out a loud moan and drills me deep a couple of times, before resuming his previous pace. He hits my spot, and I swear lights flash behind my eyes.

"Ahhhhh, ah," I call out. His strokes go deep again, and I feel like I've never been so full. "FFucck."

I clench my eyes and he goes deep once more. My pussy is trembling; my legs won't stop shaking. I'm gushing.

I can feel it coming.

 _Oh fuck._

He rams his huge cock into me again. I've never been this wet before. My juices are running down to my ass. I can hear the sound of my wetness coating his length.

 _Fuck._

 _Oh._

 _God._

 _Ahhhh ah aaaaahh._

" _Oh, Rick_ ," I succeed in saying. "Just like that _. Oh, yes!_ Just. Like That."

He smashes into me over and over and over. I feel the heat swirling. I feel my pussy tightening around his impossibly hard cock. And then it happens.

" _Ohh, ffffffuccck,"_ I scream, as my body shakes and I come; then, I squirt all over him. That's never happened before. It's almost _too_ intense; too delicious. He doesn't stop fucking me, even though I am drenching and his sheets. "Oh, god; Rick. _Please…_ "

He continues his thrusts, but asks, "You want more of this?"

I can't even order my thoughts right now. I am running on pure adrenaline and lust.

"Please, Daddy…"

My head is spinning. My pussy won't stop gushing. My entire body is alight. I've never felt like this before.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Say it."

"Please keep fucking me," I manage. He then lifts my lower half off the bed and drives his dick into me harder and faster. Another orgasms ripples through me. "Oh, god!"

"Stay with me, baby," he pleads. "I'm close."

"Please," I beg, feeling another orgasm approaching, as he grips my hips and rams into me harder.

"Hmmmmmm, fuck," he moans. "I…oh, fuck. Hmmmm Michonne."

He brings his thumb to my clit and strums it vigorously as he comes inside of me. I am so ripe that the small touch tips me over the edge once more, and I squirt again as he covers my body with his; his hot seed filling my womb. I can barely breathe as he plants kisses to my face and removes his cock from my aching pussy. He falls beside me, and reaches for my hand.

"Wow," he says breathlessly. "You're amazing. You know that, right?"

I don't know if I can speak, I've been fucked so good. I squeeze his hand and then say, "I'm sorry."

He breathes deeply, and then asks, "For what?"

"For making a mess," I say a little bashfully. "When I…That's never happened to me before…"

"Hey," he says, leaning up on his elbow. "Don't apologize. It was fuckin' sexy. You're sexy, okay?"

I can't help but smile as I reply, "Okay."

"Everything about you is amazing," he says. "I love _everything_ about you. I love you."

I don't know if it is because my heart is still racing, or because of the unadulterated ecstasy that is washing over me, but I know what I am feeling right now. Threading my fingers through his hair, I bring his lips close to mine, and then whisper, "I love you, too."


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Thanks for the responses on the last chappie. I appreciate your readership and support. Sorry for the wait. Enjoy!

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

My heart feels as if it is swollen with love right now. My face hurts from smiling. My skin is warm and it is as if adoration is seeping from my pores and wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth and light and giddiness. How could I ever feel like this again? This in love? This enamoured? And to find that she loves me back? This is better than anything I could have ever imagined. This is better than anything I deserve. Michonne loves me. She has said it back to me, and I am floating.

We lie together in the darkness. Her head is resting against my bare chest. I rub my fingers up and down her back as she slumbers in my arms. Her steady breathing calms me; having her this close quiets my soul. I kiss the top of her head softly and grip her tighter. I feel this strong sense of wanting to protect her; of needing to protect her. That is why I will do whatever I can to keep her safe, starting with a trip to visit my oldest friend in the world. If he has any information about who might be trying to put Michonne in harm's way, I will get it from him. I am happy to lie here in the dark with the woman I love. When tomorrow comes, I will figure everything else out; but for now, her steady breathing lulls me into a dreamless sleep.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I sit in the corner of the pizzeria by the large window and nurse my cold drink. The noisy chatter of other patrons fills the air and serves to drown out the conversation I am having with Glenn.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in a while," says Glenn as he stands near me, pretending to ask how my meal is going.

"It has been a while," I reply. "A lot has been going on."

"How did your trip to DC go?" he asks, holding my gaze; I try to read his expression. It is concerned, but guarded. He is behaving exactly how one would expect him to. I do not feel like he is hiding anything from me; of course, he has been briefed as well. I do not think he has had anything to do with leaking information about me. His career is depending on my safety and how well he handles me. He would not throw it all away by placing me in jeopardy. Besides, I feel like we might be friends, real friends, outside of this line of work.

"It was okay," I offer, smiling up at him. "All things considered."

"Yeah," he says. "It's a lot to process. So if you need anything, reach out. That's what I'm here for."

I offer him a small smile, and then nod my head.

"The recording device worked," I inform him quietly. "Our test run was a success."

"That's great," he smiles. "So, you'll be ready for the next phase of the plan soon?"

"Yes," I answer. "We have another meeting coming up shortly. I will get what we need then."

"Great work," Glenn supplies. "This will be over soon. With Grimes' statement, proof of purchase, and the recordings, we'll have enough to bring charges against the target."

"What about finding out his full plan?"

"Intent definitely helps," says Glenn. "But we can get that from recording him."

"Do you think what we have already is enough?" I question; I am adept at gathering information, not necessarily at determining if it will suffice.

"It's enough to start a deeper investigation," he replies. "Are you worried about something else?"

I see the genuine concern in his face.

"No, not really," I say. "I guess I just want to make sure this sticks."

"Hey," says Glenn, lowering his voice yet again. "It will. It'll be fine. I know this isn't where you thought this assignment would end up, but you've done a great job. And like I said, it'll all be over soon."

I smile at him once more and nod my head in agreement. He is right: _This will be over soon_.

Glenn leaves, and I glance out the window. Rick is leaning against his car with his phone to his ear; he watches me with a focussed stare before saying one last thing to the person with whom he is speaking. He ends the call, gives me a crooked grin, and then makes his way back inside.

He does not take up his former seat adjacent to mine in the booth, but sits next to me instead. His hand finds my leg where he gives in a gentle squeeze before rubbing it. Then, he turns his head to glance at me, before placing a quick kiss to my temple.

"You good?" I say, placing my hand over his. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he drawls. "I'm gonna have to take a little trip later today."

I crease my brow, "Where are you going?"

"To see my contact in law enforcement," he replies. "I need to get to the bottom of how he got his hands on that information about you."

"Rick, you don't have to…"

"I need to," he answers firmly.

"I don't want you putting yourself in danger because of me," I tell him in earnest. I search his eyes and see them soften at my words. He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to it.

"I would do _anything_ for you," he supplies, staring intensely into my eyes. "But rest assured, I'll be okay. The person I'm going to see is my friend, Morgan Jones. You met him before, at the KCSD Annual Dinner."

"The Chief of Police?" I query; eyes wide with surprise. " _That's_ your contact."

"Yeah," he says, considering my expression a moment. I must look slightly flustered at this information. "He's just been helpin' me as a friend from time-to-time."

"I see," I say. "You can trust him?"

"I trust him with my life, Michonne," he answers, not taking offence at my question.

"I hope you can trust him with _my_ life," I retort, somewhat offhandedly.

"Yeah," says Rick. "I hope so, too."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The roadside diner is like any other one might find on a Georgian highway. It smells of coffee and cheap food. There are people sitting alone; they avoid eye contact with me. Others are taking a break from driving with their families; they pay me no mind. I probably look like someone who you would not approach if you saw him in a public place on his own. I tip the hostess extra to give me a booth off to the right, away from the other customers; she happily accepts my money, and leads me to my seat.

I place an order and wait, checking my phone. There is a message from Morgan. He should be arriving any minute now. The waitress approaches, offers me an amicable smile, and pours the steaming beverage into my cup.

"Was there anything else you needed?" she asks, taking her notebook from the pocket of her ill-fitting uniform.

I shake my head, slide twenty dollars in her direction, and say, "No, thank you."

She verbally offers her gratitude and adds, "If you change your mind, just give me a holler."

I give her a nod, and then notice that someone has entered the establishment: It is Morgan. He smiles at the hostess, and then gestures in my direction. He is dressed in civilian clothing, a nice suit, tailored to fit him, and dark in color. He is carrying a brief case. We share a smile as he draws nearer, and I stand. We hug in greeting, before sitting down.

"Good to see you," he says.

"You, too," I reply. "I know you're a busy man; sorry to drag you out here on such short notice."

"It's fine," Morgan answers. "I indicated to my assistant that I was meeting with a CI."

I laugh a little; he feels more like _my_ confidential informant.

"So, what do you need, Rick?" he adds. "Because I am a busy man."

I shift my coffee cup to the left, and lean on the table, signifying that we should lower our voices.

"When I asked you for the file on the Agent who is working with me," I say quietly. "Where did you get it from?"

"Why are you asking me this now?" Morgan queries, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.

"I need to know, Morgan," I offer in way of response.

"Why now?" he reiterates.

"Because she might be in danger," I state firmly. "I can't let anything happen to her."

"You're not a cop anymore, Rick," he says. "Let the Feds protect her. Besides, she's the one who they sent for you. She took you down. Why do you want to keep her from danger?"

"Because she's just doin' her job…"

"We're all doin' our job, Rick…"

"Yeah, but someone from her own organization gave out information that could have gotten her killed," I say, feeling slightly annoyed with my best friend for stalling. "I want to help her get through this; that means helpin' her figure out who leaked her information and put her in danger. I won't be around for much longer. She won't be working this case much longer. I guess the cop in me wants to make sure that another officer of the law is protected. She has a right to know."

He studies my expression for a moment. His dark brown eyes are fixed onto mine. He can tell I am sincere in what I am saying; in my need to keep Michonne safe. He leans forward, mirroring me, and nods his head.

"Okay," he says, clasping his hands together. "You're absolutely right. And I can tell you care a lot about her."

"I do," I admit. "So tell me, who sold her out before, and who compromised her now?"

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

It has been an already long day though it is only early afternoon. Spencer vacates the vehicle at the Farm and leaves us alone. I sit quietly in the backseat of Rick's car and stare at the rear of the headrest in front of me. I feel his gaze on me, but I need to take a moment to process the information I have just been given. He brings his hand to rest on my knee, and asks, "Are you okay?"

I turn my head slowly to look at him, offering a weak smile, before answering, "Yes. I'm just trying to make sense of it all. Like, why would she do that?"

"She was helping a friend," he says by way of explanation.

"She's my superior officer," I reply. "We're obviously not friends, but she is meant to have my back."

When Rick told me, only moments ago after Spencer had gotten out of the car, I felt my stomach drop. My skin grew warm and clammy, and a ringing set in my ears. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. But it made sense; the person who had information on me, who was capable of accessing information on me, obviously had to be someone who worked with me. I just never thought it would be someone from my team.

"I actually feel relieved that it is her," Rick said as I frowned in his direction.

"Why?"

"Because it wasn't to harm you," he replied. "She knows Morgan is a good man, and they have a history. Him requesting information about her team member wasn't done out of malice, and he made sure she knew that. I don't know exactly what he told her, but she knew she could trust him with your file. She knew it was for me…"

"But you were the target, Rick!" I say incredulously, placing my hand to my temple. "She shouldn't have put me in jeopardy like that…"

"It was _after_ my deal was made," he retorts. "It wasn't like there was anything in there I could have used against you; it was so I could _know_ you..."

"That still wasn't her call," I say, turning away from him; I hear him sigh loudly. "This still doesn't answer who was trying to access information on me recently. If she gave it out before, what's stopping her from doing it again?"

"You're right," he offers softly. "The other person who is searching for you is still out there, but it wasn't your boss doing anything shitty this time. She gave you the heads up. And I get it. I really do. She's your superior. She should've had your back before, but she does now. Informing you that your cover may have been compromised is having your back."

I take in what he is saying, and continue to listen with my gaze averted.

"People do things they're not meant to when they care about someone. She cares about Morgan; he cares about me. They bent the rules a little. We're all out here bending the rules."

I turn my head slowly to face him, and I understand what he is saying, but I still feel betrayed. I let out a sigh of my own and then say, "I just thought she'd do everything in her power to protect me."

"You don't need her to protect you," he says while shifting closer to my side of the seat. "You've got me."

He brushes his hand across the side of my face, before pressing a soft kiss to my lips. I close my eyes and relish in the gentleness of his action. He draws back, and my eyes remain shut; his breath is warm on my skin as he whispers close to my ear, "Do you trust me?"

I open my eyes, and reply, "Yes, Rick."

He leans away slightly, our gazes lock, and he says, "Well trust me when I say this: I won't let anyone hurt you. There's a way out of this for you, Michonne, after everything is said and done. And I promise you'll be okay."

When the clear blue of his eyes becomes glazed over, and nothing but sincerity and adoration fills them, my heart feels at ease. When he smiles at me, and gently strokes my skin, I feel safe; when he utters another promise to me, I believe him; with everything in my heart, I believe him: I will be okay. As for him, that is a different story.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

" _Fuck_ ," I pant, short of breath; my pleasure washing over me as I spill my seed inside of a writhing Michonne.

Her eyes are closed tightly as I feel her walls clench my cock, milking and caressing it. I watch her contentedly a moment longer. She lifts her lids slowly, and offers me a satisfied smile as she draws my face closer to hers. We share a soft kiss, our bodies still connected, before I withdraw my length and fall down beside her on the bed. Her arm soon finds me as she drapes it over my torso. I enclose her with mine and kiss her brow.

"I love you," I whisper, as if I cannot say it enough to her.

"I love you, too," she replies, causing me to smile. Silence pervades the area; thick like the darkness shrouding the areas of my bedroom where the lamp light does not reach. I know she has to say something. She needed to before I distracted her earlier with my mouth and fingers. Now, as we lie together, she regains her train of thought.

"The next meeting with Negan," she starts. "All being well, we should get the intel we need to make a move on him."

"Really?" I ask. "Just from the recordings?"

"Yes," she replies. "I spoke to my handler, and they said it'll be enough, in addition to your statement."

"We still don't know what he wants the guns for," I say. "I thought the Feds would want the strongest case possible."

"That's what I thought," she offers. "Maybe they're confident that they'll be able to get him to talk. Maybe my cover being compromised is making them move quicker; maybe they just want to hurry up and put you both away. Whatever it is, it seems like we have less time to get this done."

"Which means less time together," I say, just above a whisper.

It comes out a lot more mournful than I meant it to. Michonne lifts her head from where it is resting and looks at me. She looks so beautiful in the warm light of the shaded lamp. I can see a sadness in her eyes. She strokes the side of my face.

"I never imagined any of this would happen," she says sincerely. "This isn't how I pictured it in my head."

"I know," I admit. "When I made the deal, I never thought I'd end up feeling this way about you, the _real_ you. And now, if I'm bein' honest with you and myself, I don't want it to end. I don't want to lose you."

I watch as tears pool in her big brown eyes. She bites her bottom lip and sighs deeply before replying, "Neither do I. I want to be with you, Rick. I want you."

"I want you, too. So what do we do about it?" I ask, feeling hope and despair clawing at each other to reach the surface.

"Is there anything we can do?" she murmurs. I shift positions so that I am sitting in bed; she does the same. I take hold of her hand and stare into her eyes.

"I can find a way," I say in earnest, feeling my heart rate speed up. "If you want to, I can find a way for us to be together. But only if you want to."

If she answers yes, right now, in this moment, I will do everything in my power to make it happen; I will exhaust all of my resources. I will do it for her. She stares at me and I can see behind her eyes the thoughts swirling through her mind. My breaths are shallow and I feel my stomach do little flips. And then I am pulled from the intensity of the moment from my phone ringing on the night stand.

"Hold that thought," I say to her, as I retrieve the device; Morgan is calling, so I answer. "Yes?"

"Rick, is this line secure?" he asks.

"Yes," I answer. "What's goin' on?"

"Just got a call from a contact of mine," he relays. "Philip Blake's former live-in girlfriend has been found dead, ruled a homicide. Single bullet wound to the back of her head. Point blank; execution style. Did you have anything to do with it?

"No," I answer honestly. "It wasn't me. Was it him?"

"Unlikely."

"Why is that?" I ask.

"Apparently, he's turned State's evidence. Has a deal."

"Is he in WITSEC?"

"Yes," says Morgan.

"I see. So he gets a free pass?"

"Not on my watch," Morgan replies. "I made you a promise. He _will_ see justice for what he did."

I feel rage rising up inside of me.

"Who did he roll over on?" I ask and there is silence at the other end of the line, so I ask, "Morgan?"

"Your Daddy, Rick," He responds. I clench my teeth and tilt my head to the side.

"What does he know?"

"He says he knows somethin'," Morgan replies. "Must be good enough to get him into WITSEC. I'll have to pull a few more strings."

"What's he playin' at?" I question myself more than my I do my friend.

"I don't know, but I have a location on him," Morgan offers. I feel my heart rate speed up again in anticipation.

"You do?" I ask, my mind ticking over quickly.

"Yes. And he's close. A couple of counties over," Morgan explains.

"I need to get to him," I say. "If there are other people looking for him, I want to make sure that I get in first."

Morgan gives me the address of where Blake can be found. We end the call and sit staring at the floor for a moment. The anger coursing through my body like a fiery pulse. The ringing in my ears almost drowns out her soft, sweet voice.

"Rick? What's going on?" Michonne asks.

"I'm sorry," I reply, getting to my feet and searching for my discarded clothing. "I have to go."

"Rick? What happened?" she queries, a look of concern etched across her striking features.

"I got some information on the man who killed my family," I explain as I step into my jeans. "I got a location. I'm going there tonight to end this."

"What are you gonna do?" she asks.

I pull on my shirt and begin to fasten the buttons; she climbs off of the bed and stands in front of me.

"Rick, talk to me," she pleads. "What are you going to do when you find him?"

"I'm gonna kill him," I say coldly, as I cup her face and kiss her forehead. I let go of Michonne and then step around her. I retrieve my three fifty-seven from the top drawer and place it at the small of my back. I turn around and see her starting to get dressed. "Please don't try to stop me."

Michonne pulls her tank top over her head, stares me dead in the eyes and says, "I'm not gonna stop you, Rick; I'm coming with you."


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Thanks for the lovely feedback, Dear Readers. I'm pleased that everyone enjoyed the previous instalment. This chappie sees our faves on a little road trip, and the light will shine on some of Rick's past in a flashback. Here goes…

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

The hour is late and the road ahead of us is dark. The high beam of the car's headlights guides our way along the sleepy Georgian highway. I am wide awake. The adrenaline is keeping me alert on this journey. Michonne is seated beside me. We ride in silence, though I know she is awake. I wonder a moment what she is thinking. I was a little surprised that she had volunteered to come with me. I thought she would try to stop me. However, I figure she was more concerned with me having to take this trip on my own. I notice that she shifts beside me. I hear her clear her throat.

"I've read the case files, of course, but…did you want to tell me what happened with your family?" she asks softly. I can tell she is treading carefully. This is still a very difficult subject for me. I haven't spoken to anyone about it in depth, apart from Morgan, since I made the statement after the incident.

The Sheriff's Department tried to make me see a psychiatrist on the regular not long after, but I refused. I ended up promising myself to get some kind of revenge. I turned into the man I am today.

She is patient with me. Quietly supporting my choice to share with her, or not, the worst time of my life. I do not answer her right away, instead, I turn my head to glance quickly at her.

"It hasn't been easy for me," I say finally. "Any of it. Hasn't been easy to deal with; to talk about. To _forgive_."

"I understand," she whispers.

"I lost everyone I ever loved," I explain; my voice sounds hoarse to my ear. "I lost everything, all because of one man. He took away my wife and daughter; my brother. Hell, even my father. He took away who _I was._ And I inherited all of this."

She says nothing, but continues to listen to me.

"We've got a long history," I say. "Philip Blake and my family. A lot of people don't realize that he started out as muscle for my Daddy. Started freelancing as a hitman. Worked his way up in my father's outfit; middle fuckin' management type deal. Had his own crew of guys to boss around. Guess he liked the respect this lifestyle commands and wanted to branch out. My Daddy never touched drugs; was always guns. Said it's our constitution right or some shit. My little brother was in Blake's crew. Jeff and my father had issues on account of his drug problem. It's hard to reason with someone when they've got demons; I know this better than anyone. My Daddy, he felt like Jeff couldn't be reached. Turned his back on him."

"That must've been hard for Jeff and for you," she offers. I hear the sincerity in her voice.

"It was," I reply. "I wanted to help him, but there was only so much I could do. I was a cop whose family was questionable to the Department, and downright criminal to those who knew the whole truth; I put a lot of distance between us as well. I wasn't the best brother to him, but I did want to help."

5 _years ago…_

 _The tapping sound that the old desk fan produced was familiar, even comforting. I never really liked to run the air conditioner when I took a shift that was at night time; the fan was enough to keep me cool, even during the brutal Georgian summers. The lights were dim, save for the desk lamp that lit the papers sprawled across the desktop. I placed the pen I was holding to my lips and squinted down at the ticket I was examining. Walsh sure did have shitty handwriting. I made out what he had scribbled, and then entered the information into the incident report. I should never have agreed to do this for him. I sighed, checked the time on the wall, and then eased back into the chair. Byrnes would be arriving to relieve me at any minute._

 _Just as I began to place the paperwork back into the cardboard folders, my mobile phone started to ring in my top pocket. I let out another sigh, thinking that is was Lori calling again to ask when I would be home. Instead, it was from a number that I was unfamiliar with. I answered all the same._

 _"Hello?"_

 _"Rick?"_

 _"Jeff?" I asked, recognizing my brother's voice._

 _"Yeah," he replied. "Hey, do you have a minute?"_

 _I check the time once more: It is nearing midnight._

 _"It's late," I said. "What do you need?"_

 _"I know, and I'm sorry," he offered. "But I was wonderin' if I could meet up with you."_

 _"When?"_

 _"Now?"_

 _"Jeff…"_

 _"I know, I know," he said. "It's late, and you haven't heard from me in a dog's age; but I need to see you, man."_

 _"I got a family to get home to…"_

 _"I know, Rick," he countered. "But last time I checked, I was your family, too."_

 _I fell silent, knowing that he had a point. We were family, even though he had taken his own path, much like I had done. That did not negate that fact that we were brothers; that I was his older brother, and the one who vowed to always look out for him._

 _"All right," I conceded, albeit reluctantly. "Where are you?"_

 _"I'm at O'Malley's," he responded; I wasn't surprised._

 _"Okay," I said as I closed the file on my desk. "Give me twenty minutes."_

…..

 _Despite, or maybe because of, the late hour, the bar where my brother asked me to meet him was lively. Country-rock music blared from the speakers as the band churned out the party tunes. The sounds of inebriated people hooting and hollering over the music escaped the front door each time someone would stagger in or out of the establishment. I took my hat off at the entrance and then stepped inside._

 _The smell of stale alcohol and sweat assaulted my nose, and the flashing lights that lit up the dancefloor hurt my eyes a little. I was use to coming out to the bars when there was a call reporting a disturbance, and it was always the same: Drunk people out past their bedtimes acting as if they had no worries in the world. And maybe they didn't._

 _Some of those seemingly worry-free people looked at me as I made my way through the crowded room. My uniform caused me to stand out. I squinted my eyes and scanned the room. After a moment, I saw my brother sitting in a booth towards the back of the bar. He was slumped over the table, sipping from a beer, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. It must have been working because no one seemed to be paying him any mind._

 _I continued my stride. Revellers stepped out of the way to let me pass. It's amazing what a uniform and a gun can do; the power it can give you. I lifted my head a little higher and puffed my chest out. When I reached the table where Jeff sat, he did not look up to see me. I took a seat and shook him from his wandering thoughts._

 _"Rick," he said wearing a half-smile._

 _"Hey," I replied. "You look like shit."_

 _He was clean enough, but his eyes looked sunken and his skin had lost much of its lustre; his hair had a few strands of silver and grey threaded through his otherwise dark locks. He didn't look much like my little brother anymore; he had aged considerably in the past few months. I figured that came with the territory; living a life of crime must be difficult and stressful. And of course the drugs didn't help._

 _"Well, everyone says I look like you, so…"_

 _That caused me to laugh a little as I placed my hat down on the seat next to me._

 _"Yeah," I retorted. "They do say that."_

 _"You want a drink?" he asked; I considered it a moment before declining._

 _"Better not," I offered. "Already late. Don't think Lori would appreciate me comin' home with beer on my breath."_

 _He smiled and nodded his head before saying, "Nah, I don't reckon she would."_

 _"So, what did you need?" I asked._

 _He toyed with the lid of the beer, and his eyes darted across toward the bar. After he let out a loud sigh, he took a swig from his drink and then met my gaze._

 _"I need some money, Rick," he said._

 _I tilted my head to the right and gave him a questioning stare._

 _"You serious? I'm not givin' you money for drugs…"_

 _"It's not for drugs…"_

 _"I've heard that before," I said sternly, folding my arms in front of me._

 _"Rick, please," he said while holding my gaze. "You know that I don't get a salary from Daddy anymore."_

 _"You need help, Jeff," I offer._

 _"You can help me right now if you give me the money," he said._

 _"That's not what I meant..."_

 _"I'm in trouble, Rick," he finally stated, unevenly. I could see the sincerity in his eyes. All of the other artifice was stripped away when he said those words, and they struck a chord with me. He was still my little brother, and in that moment, he looked scared._

 _"Then let me help you properly," I replied._

 _"I just need some money to get out of town."_

 _"Running away ain't gonna help you," I said firmly._

 _"I knew this was a waste of time," he said in an annoyed tone, as he got up from his seat and began to walk away._

 _"Jeff, wait!" I called out to him over the music; he stopped in his tracks. "Hundred bucks; that's all I can spare."_

 _He turned to face me once more. I could see the gratitude in his expression, but the fear was still there in his sad blue eyes. I got out my wallet, and removed the cash I had on me._

 _"Thanks," he said in earnest, though somewhat dejectedly, as he took the money from my hand._

 _We shared a look while I held his gaze, which fell before mine did as he inched toward the intoxicated crowd. "I do appreciate you, Rick."_

 _"Hey," I said, while stepping toward him. "I do want to help you, ya know."_

 _"I know," he replied with a nod of his head._

 _"C'mere," I said, gesturing to him with my arms reaching out. He gave me a weak, plaintive smile and then stepped into the hug. After a moment, we both pulled away from the embrace, and offered each other a grin. Right then, we had no way of knowing that that moment would be last time my little brother and I would ever hug one another again._

 _….._

 _Michonne's POV_

I must have dozed off. I knew Rick would let me sleep. We are now waiting at a lonely stop light that is swinging gently in a soft breeze. Knox County looks much the same as King County. Still has that small town vibe, even though it is early in the morning and everything feels surreal, as if Rick and I are the only two people alive in the world. I look over at him. The red light washes over his handsome face, making his pretty blue eyes seem bloodshot. He must feel my gaze on him, because he turns to look at me.

"Hey," he says, his voice croaky from disuse.

"Hey," I reply, smiling at him. "We're here?"

I already know we are; I can feel the anticipation radiating from his body. He knows he is close.

"Yes," he replies, taking hold of my hand. "We're here."

…..

The street we drive down looks like any other in rural Georgia. Wide roads lined by trees. Modest homes with small fences. Some porch lights left turned on. The house we are looking for is at the end of the unimposing block. I wonder a moment why this man, this Philip Blake would return to Georgia. Maybe he has a grander plan. Maybe he is stupid. Either way, my stomach is in knots as Rick shuts off the headlights and brings the car to a halt out the front of the house.

"You think he's really in there?" I ask, finding myself whispering.

"Morgan said he was," Rick answers. "And I believe him."

"So, what's the plan?" I query.

"I get you to a motel room, and then I come back and stake the place out," he replies.

I scrunch my face up, "No, Rick. You drove all night. You need rest, too."

"Michonne…"

"No," I interject. "You need to be sharp; well rested."

He says nothing, but sighs loudly while staring at me.

"You're not going to convince me otherwise," I say, cupping his face with one hand. "You're coming to the motel room with me, and we'll handle this after you've gotten some sleep, okay?"

He shakes his head and flashes that crooked smile I love so much and says, "Okay."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"Oh, god," she moans as I suck her swollen little clit into my mouth. I kneel on the carpeted floor with her legs draped over my shoulders as she writhes and bucks on the bed.

I roll my tongue over her opening, before bringing it to her ripe little bud. I suck it between my lips while running my tongue over it. She grips my hair tighter with her fingers. I moan and rub my nose between her drenched lips. I don't know what's wetter, my mouth or her pussy. Either way, they both belong pressed against one another.

My hand is working up and down my rock hard cock as I continue to lick and suck at her juicy sex. I can tell she's close by the way she lifts her pelvis from the mattress and moans deeply. I keep paying her clit attention, lapping keenly as I bring her closer to her second orgasm.

"Oh, Rick…"

 _Closer_.

"Fuck, Rick…"

 _Even closer._

 _"Aaahh, aah, oh, Rick!"_

She comes in my mouth, her fingers tugging at my curls as she rolls her hips. I lick the length of her slit, and then stand, positioning myself between her thighs. Her eyes are closed as she relishes in her pleasure. I watch her until she opens them; she smiles and then lets her stare fall to where I am handling my big cock. I thumb the precum drizzling from its tip before lifting her leg; she wraps both about my waist.

I hold her gaze and ask, "You done coming for me?"

She leans up on her elbows, thrust herself forward slightly, and then bites her bottom lip before whispering, "No."

I stroke my cock with more fervor and offer her a crooked smile. I inch closer and rub my tip over her clit, coating it with her arousal, teasing her further. She watches me and waits.

"Do you want all of this dick, baby?"

She places both feet at the edge of the bed and parts her thighs, spreading herself wide open for me.

"Yes, Daddy."

"How do you want it?" I ask, my cock practically jumping in my hand as I slide it over her slickened folds.

"Hard and fast," she replies as she begins to play with her nipples.

I smile, stop my stroking, and then step back a little, taking in her appearance. She is the most divine woman I have ever seen. I will never tire of watching her, whether it is waiting for me to ravish her, or undertaking some mundane task. I crave her; I need her. She is my match in every way.

When her hand moves from her breast to her pussy, and she slides two fingers inside, I almost lose all of my composure. I watch as the digits disappear between her glistening, engorged lips. She is dripping wet. _Fuck._ My dick twitches.

"You want it hard?" I ask.

"Yes, Daddy," she replies.

I take a deep breath and step forward before saying, "Well, be a good girl and get on your hands and knees for me."

…..

She is snoring softly while I check the contents of the black bag set atop the small round table in the motel room. I vaguely register the sunlight peering from the edges of the thick, heavy curtains. I haven't slept at all. Michonne, however, has been out like a light since I fucked her into oblivion a couple of hours ago. I admire her a moment, sleeping soundly, beautifully; unaware that I am about to skulk off and go to Blake's residence without her. I'm not sure how it is going to play out, but I know someone is going to atone for their sins today, and it's not going to be me.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. I really do appreciate the feedback, and it is truly helpful to me as a writer. I was really chuffed with all of the comments that I received; it's nice to see that so many of you want our OTP to win in this fic, despite the questionable things that they have done, and continue to do. In this chapter, we learn more about Rick's back-story through flashbacks, and are finally introduced to his father, Daddy Gene Grimes (please see my Tumblr for Daddy Gene's faceclaim). Here we go. Enjoy!

* * *

5 years ago

 _My squad car came to a stop at the large security gates. I received a raised eyebrow from the shit kicker who was staffing the gate that fine day. I didn't recognize him; he obviously didn't know me. I guess he wasn't used to seeing law enforcement roll up at the Grimes Farm. He gave me an incredulous stare. I waited for him to speak._

 _"Can I help you?" he asked._

 _"I'm here to see Daddy Gene," I said firmly._

 _"I'm sorry, but Mr. Grimes isn't takin' visitors today," he replied. I let out a tired sigh._

 _"Tell him Rick's here to see him," I retorted, growing impatient with the newbie._

 _"Officer," he replied. "Mr. Grimes isn't seein' any visitors today."_

 _I sighed again, loudly this time, tapped my hand on the steering wheel and then said, "Listen, bud; I know you've got your orders, but you tell him his son Rick is here to see him. Otherwise, I'll call in my friends from the Sheriff's Department. And somethin' tells me you don't really wanna be the person who got the cops out here, now do ya?"_

 _He gave me an unreadable look, obviously contemplating whether or not I was telling the truth. Then, after some consideration, he picked up the phone and spoke into the receiver. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he did glance back at me once. After he ended the call, he turned to me and nodded; there was a loud buzzing and the gate opened up. The young man then said, "Mr. Grimes will see you."_

 _….._

 _The main house still resembled the one that Jeff and I grew up in. Homely and welcoming, until I realized exactly what business my father was in. Then, this old house just felt suffocating._

 _Our childhood bedrooms were long ago packed away. Daddy wanted us to put away boyish things and memories and become men. There was no space for sentimentality. My toys and trinkets we're given to Goodwill when I reached my teenage years. Trophies from achievements were boxed up when I graduated. When I left for the Academy, there was barely a trace of my existence left in the house. I took a photograph of my Mama and me and never looked back._

 _It's actually a strange twist of fate that my Daddy was the reason I met Lori, my wife. She was the daughter of one of his associates and, by chance, we had met at one of their joint 'fundraisers'. Our romance was what people refer to as a whirlwind. We were inseparable throughout the summer, and married by the time the autumnal foliage had fallen to the earth._

 _It was only because of Lori that I kept in contact with my father. We spent a day or two of the holidays together when he was available. She said it was important. I did as she asked, only to please her. I never came to my father for anything else. Our relationship was strained. Sometimes I would trick myself into believing he loved me and my brother; other times, when I could almost feel the ice emanating from his veins, I knew he didn't._

 _Yet, as I sat waiting for him in his study, the framed photographs of Jeff and I confused me a moment. Then I recalled how Deanna suggested that he display them. God. If not for her, my mother figure, I don't know where I would be._

 _My train of thought was halted as the heavy wooden door swung open and in stepped my father. He was stern looking. Deep frown lines appeared on his face. His blue eyes had a cold stare. He glared at me, his expression somber, before taking up a seat at the large desk._

 _"Son," he said. "What brings you out here?"_

 _He reached for the whiskey that sat atop his desk on a small, circular silver tray. He poured a glass for himself, and then looked at me, before I could answer._

 _"You on duty?" he queried._

 _"No, sir," I replied._

 _He poured some whiskey in the glass and then slid it in my direction before saying, "Here."_

 _I took it from him, and swallowed in one gulp. He eyed me curiously as he downed his own drink, and then leaned back in his chair._

 _"Have you spoken to Jeff lately?" I asked; he raised his hand to silence me, like he often did when I was a child. Like he still did now to those who were his lesser._

 _"How's that beautiful wife of yours?" he asked. "And my sweet grandbaby?"_

 _"They're good, Daddy," I replied, hating that he wanted to control the direction of our conversation._

 _"You should bring 'em over more often, Ricky," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes._

 _"This ain't no place for kids," I said flatly._

 _He smirked and then nodded his head._

 _"Naw," he drawled. "I don't suppose it is."_

 _"Daddy," I started. "Jeff, have you seen him or spoken to him lately?"_

 _"You know we haven't seen eye-to-eye on things for a long while now," he offered. "You actually visit me more than he does, and he's the one who followed in my footsteps."_

 _I let out a sigh. My father always found some way to remind me that I had thrown it all back in his face: His lifestyle; his empire. That I chose to take a different route; that I was on the other side of the fence that he had erected._

 _I slid my glass back to his side of the table, and he let more of the strong liquid flow into it. After bringing it to my lips, I stopped a moment and then said, "You don't have to remind me every single time, you know."_

 _Nursing his own drink, he answered, "Of course I do."_

 _I sighed again and then finished off my drink, before placing the glass down and leaning back in my chair. I knew what was coming next._

 _"All o' this," he said, gesturing with his outstretched arms. "All of this was meant for you, Ricky. I worked hard…"_

 _"You call this work?"_

 _"Hey!" he shouted while banging his hand on the top of the desk. "Your ass might be grown, but you don't get to sass me in my own house."_

 _I let my gaze drop. He still had the power to make me feel like a little boy._

 _"I did work hard so you and your brother could have all o' this," he continued. "You threw it back in my face, and he went off and became an embarrassment by gettin' mixed up with drugs and all o' that mess."_

 _"That's why I'm here," I interjected. "He's in a messy situation right now, Daddy. I don't know how to help him…"_

 _"There is no helpin' him, now," my father said coldly. "He made his choices; he's gotta live with 'em."_

 _"And if he dies?"_

 _"Then he dies with those choices, too."_

 _I stared at him a moment, in utter helplessness before nodding my head in acceptance, and standing up. He was not going to offer any assistance, and I was wasting my time trying to get some from him._

 _"Okay," was all I said as I moved towards the door. I turned the knob, and pulled it ajar._

 _"Ricky," my father called. I stopped, but did not look at him; instead, my head remained bowed. "I meant what I said. I did all of this for you boys. If I can't give it to you, then what's the point?"_

 _"I can't answer that for you," I replied. "If this is all you think of as havin' real value, then I'm sorry for rejecting it."_

 _Silence pervaded._

 _"What would it take for you to accept my legacy, son?" he asked, almost pleadingly._

 _I sighed loudly, then lifted my gaze to meet his._

 _"You don't get it, Daddy," I offered. "I have everything I need and want. I've got my girls; my own little family. I don't need this. I don't need your legacy; I've got my own."_

 _With that I offered him a farewell nod, and left him sitting in the large leather chair. Little did I know that his throne, and empire, would soon become my own._

…..

 _Presently_

I find myself in the car sitting at the front of Blake's residence. His vehicle is still parked in the driveway; there is no movement. I think for a moment if he is sleeping-in. I snort at the thought of how mundane this all seems. The house is ordinary. An ordinary life for a man who has caused so much pain and suffering. He gets to live his life as if the hurt he has inflicted has been washed away like blood in a rainstorm.

He could not have been here very long. I think for a second why he would even chance coming back to this part of the world. Why would he even risk being this close to me, and others, when we have wanted to see him pay for so long? I will remember to ask him that right before I pull the trigger. I will remember to ask him a few things.

…..

5 years ago

 _"You're a little way from home, Deputy," said Blake as he lit up a cigarette. "Take a load off."_

 _The drab, grey walls of the abandoned factory did little to keep heat within the structure. I saw my own breath as I let out an exhausted sigh. I had travelled four hours up the road to be there. My brother sounded panicked on the phone; when he said his life was being threatened, I knew I had to go to him. As I stood before him then, as he was bound and gagged, I was certain I had made the right choice._

 _"Just answer the damn question," I said, choosing to remain standing._

 _I glanced down at Jeff, tied to the chair, and then back at Blake, who was sitting at the table without a care in the world. He sipped from his glass of whiskey, and slid the decanter in my direction, before saying, "At least have a drink, then."_

 _"I'm not here for your southern hospitality," I spat. "I want to know what it is you want from me and my family."_

 _"You know what I do for a living, don't you?" asked Blake._

 _"Yes," I replied. "You're a drug dealer."_

 _"That's such a negative way to explain what I do," he said with a smirk. "I'm more of a business man; a visionary. Your Daddy was short-sighted in what men like us could achieve. He couldn't see what Jeff and I could see."_

 _"What does that have to do with why we're here in now?" I asked, growing impatient, but knowing I had to play his game._

 _"It's simple, really: You get the Sheriff's Department, and your Daddy, off my ass. Get the heat off my business, from both of them, and I won't kill your baby brother."_

 _I clenched my teeth and gave him a disbelieving stare. He was a two-bit drug pusher, not a killer. I doubted him, and told him so._

 _"There's no way you're gonna do that," I said, lifting my chin. Blake finished his drink and then stood up. He walked behind Jeff, and then came to halt in front of the table, where he finally sat down and stared at me._

 _"You really think I'm bluffing?" he asked, taking his gun from its holster, and laying it down on his lap._

 _I eyed the gun, and then glanced around at my brother. His eyes were red and glassy. He struggled against his binds; he looked afraid. I was at a loss as to what I should do. I had to rely on what I already knew about this man they called the Governor; I had to hope that his track record spoke for itself. That he was not generally a violent person. That he would not kill someone who worked for him; someone who was the brother of a law enforcement officer and the son of a Dixie Mafia Boss._

 _"I think we can come to some other arrangement," I offered, trying to stall while I assessed the situation further._

 _"What is it about my deal don't you like, Grimes?" he queried._

 _"The part where you're askin' me to go against the Department," I said. "Against my father."_

 _"Well, that's what I'm offering," he said. "Take it, help me out, or Jeff here ain't gonna see the light of day."_

 _"You're not gonna shoot a cop's brother right in front of him…"_

 _"Try me," he said, before cocking the hammer of his handgun and pointing it at Jeff. I lifted my hands up in an effort to dissuade him from going through with his plan._

 _"Blake…"_

 _"Will you do it?"_

 _"I'm an officer of the law," I said, trying to make him see reason. "I'm not like my brother and Daddy. I can't just…"_

 _Before I knew what was happening, Philip Blake had pulled the trigger. He pulled the trigger of his weapon that was aimed at my brother. The bullet left the gun and pierced my brother's chest. Blood was pouring from his wound. Blood. Blood was everywhere. It was as if everything was moving in slow motion. I saw the flash before I even heard the loud sound of the blast. Then, all I saw was red. The red of my brother's blood. The red behind my eyes._

 _"No!" I screamed, as I reached toward him. My arms felt heavy, and my feet would not propel me forward. He had time to get off another shot before I was on him._

 _We both fell to the floor. I landed on top of him, so I began to throw punches to his face while trying to keep him from pointing his gun at me. Somehow, he got the upper hand, and rolled me to my back. He was larger than me. He had the upper hand. He had the weapon. I could have so easily ended up like my brother._

 _Jeff._

 _Fuck!_

 _My baby brother._

 _The anger and adrenaline spurred me on. Gave me the strength to fight. Before I could fend him off completely, I felt the blunt blow of the butt of the handgun smash against my temple once._

 ** _Thud!_**

 _Then again._

 ** _Thud!_**

 _A final time._

 ** _Crack!_**

 _And then there was no more red. No more rage. There was nothing but darkness._

…..

 _Presently_

 _Tap tap tap._

I turn my head to the front passenger window of the car to see Michonne standing there looking slightly unimpressed. I go to roll it down, but she opens the door and climbs inside.

"Rick," she starts. "What the fuck?"

"I'm sorry," I say.

"You don't have to be," she replies, and relief washes over me. She is not too upset.

"I love you," I tell her.

"I love you, too," she offers. "But you can't sneak off like that. We're here together. We're in this together."

"I know," I say, taking hold of her hand in mine.

"So," she says, giving my hand a squeeze. "We need to make some plans: One for what we do here today, and one for what comes after."


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading, especially to those who left feedback. Thank you for 1K+ reviews on this fic! That's amazing. I really appreciate the love you've shown this story, Dear Readers. You're the absolute best and I love you all. This chappie has a little bit of everything. Enjoy!

* * *

5 years ago

 _It felt like the quick flashes of light would threaten to blind me as I blinked in quick succession. Disoriented, the loud, high pitched beeping of some type of machine assaulted my ears. My mouth was incredibly dry, and my head was pounding. I blinked again, and tried to open my eyes. The bright light overhead stung me. I pressed my hand to my temple, and then rubbed my eyes before opening them fully._

 _Right away, I knew I was not in my home. The sterile smell and incessant beeping felt like a hospital. I was in hospital. Why? My memory was fuzzy and it somehow physically hurt to order my thoughts and focus. Someway, I found the strength to sit up in the bed._

 _I was in a room on my own. It was daytime, as evidenced by the sun that was shining through the window to my right. Flashes of memory came to me, but I still did not know why I was there. I found the cord attached to the buzzer to call a nurse. When I reached the button, I gave it a press and then waited. I was still very drowsy. Just as someone stepped into the room, and I began to speak, I became lightheaded once more and drifted off again._

 _….._

 _Whatever they had given me in the intravenous drip had me feeling dazed. I no longer felt the aching in my head. I felt calm, yet impatient. After the medical staff had checked me over, they walked off and spoke in hushed tones. No one had told me what happened, though I was still piecing it all together. I know something horrible happened to my brother, but no one was telling me. I sighed and closed my eyes hoping this was all just a terrible nightmare._

 _….._

 _I was not sure how many days had passed since I had woken up; or if any days had passed at all. I was in and out of sleep. Doctors and nurses had checked on me, asked me questions, and ran more tests. No one was telling me much about why I was in the hospital: What I did know was that I had been in a coma because of a head injury. No one confirmed it for me, but I knew Jeff had been hurt. I asked the staff if it was true, and the answer was always the same: We're not able to discuss the case with you._

 ** _The case._**

 _Something bad had definitely happened; not only to me, but to my brother. I was not allowed to make any phone calls until someone from law enforcement came to see me. My frustration was mounting with each moment that passed. Many moments eventually passed and my frustrations grew more intense._

 _…_

 _When I was awake long enough, I sat in bed eating some bland pudding. It was the most excitement I had all that day. I finished it off when there came a sudden knock at my door. Odd. The nurses and doctors usually just let themselves into my room. Straightening my posture, I told whomever was there to enter. A wave of relief washed over me when my best friend, Morgan Jones stepped into the room._

 _"I'm glad to see you," he said tentatively, glee shimmering in his stern, brown eyes. "Do you know who I am?"_

 _"Of course I do, you silly bastard," I chirped, happy that someone I knew had finally come to see me._

 _He approached and we shared an embrace before he pulled up a chair._

 _"You had me scared there for a while," he said. "You tough sonofabitch."_

 _"What happened?" I asked, needing answers._

 _"How much do you remember?" he queried, shifting uneasily in his seat._

 _"Philip Blake. Jeff," I offered, suddenly feeling cold. "I, ah…I remember bein' with Jeff, and Blake. Jeff was hurt. Shot. I don't know anything else after that. Is he?"_

 _Morgan placed a comforting hand to my forearm, and then said, "Rick, I'm sorry. Jeff didn't make it."_

 _I felt the lump in my throat swell as tears filled my eyes. I knew he had died, I just needed to confirm it before I let myself cry. We sat in silence for goodness knows how long before my friend spoke once more._

 _"Rick," he said softly. "Do you want the full story?"_

 _I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, and looked at Morgan through my teary eyes, before replying, "Yes. Tell me everything."_

 _….._

 _Have you ever felt so much pain and rage suddenly spill from every pore in your body that you just wanted to die? Have you ever felt emptiness and darkness assault your senses all at once? My heart felt as if it was being torn from my chest, carved out slowly with a dull, rusted knife. It felt like that same knife continued to dig at my flesh, tearing me apart. I was numb, yet hurting at the same damn time. I still cannot describe it. The feeling of being told that your wife and child had been ripped from their existence is the single most painful thing one can experience. When Morgan told me, I screamed out in agony; all of the air forced from my lungs._

 _I pulled the IV from my arm, and tried to stand. However, the weight of devastation, and my legs, weak from disuse and buckling underneath me, caused me to fall. I fell to the hard, cold floor. My friend rushed to my side and kneeled down to help me, but I pushed him away. He held his hands up in a gesture to say he would leave me alone, and then backed away. By the time the medical staff had entered my room, I was lying in the foetal position. My soul crushed; my heart broken. Even then, with people rushing all around me, I had never felt so utterly alone._

…..

 _Morgan sat quietly beside my hospital bed. His presence was calming. Something I needed, given the heartbreaking and tumultuous day I had endured. His patience with me was testament to his strength of character and kindness. His measure as a man and a friend. He had not abandoned me as my own father had. He was right there with me in the aftermath of my tragedy._

 _"So, he's really gone?" I asked; my dry throat making my voice sound strange._

 _"Yes," he replied, not shying away from the difficult and awkward nature of our current conversation. "I've done some diggin', asked around, and no one's actually sure of where he went. What I know for sure is that he left all of his assets in your name and then left. From what old man Wheeldon told me, your Daddy's offshore accounts were emptied and he's been off the grid ever since."_

 _I shook my head in disbelief. How could any of this be happening? How could it all be real?_

 _"I don't understand," I admitted, shaking my head._

 _"Neither do I," Morgan agreed. "But I'm gonna do everything I can to make sure you get some answers."_

 _"Thank you," I said sincerely._

 _"Don't mention it," he replied, placing a reassuring hand to my shoulder. "And I hear Deanna's been waiting to talk to you. She sure is happy you're awake."_

 _I nodded my head and tried to smile._

 _"I...I just need some more time," I said. "Ya know, before I see anyone face-to-face."_

 _"I understand, and I'm sure she does, too," he answered. "But don't avoid her for too long. She cares about you."_

 _I nod my head again._

 _"And remember," he added. "You need to get in touch your father's accountant and a lawyer. If what they're sayin' is true, you've just become a very wealthy man."_

...

 _Present day_

"Seventy-five grand?" she asks, almost incredulously.

"Yeah," I reply, sinking lower in my seat. "A small fortune just to find that bastard. Paid off cops; judges; informants. And I'm so close now. The prick is most likely on the other side of that door, eating fuckin' Honey Nut Cheerios."

We sit in silence a moment and I admire her profile as she stares at the house. I speak again asking, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

She turns to face me and says, "Yes, I want to do this."

"There's no turning back after this," I explain, a little afraid that she will come to her senses and realize she is making a huge mistake. With the task at hand, with choosing me; the whole mess.

She reaches her hand over and cups my face before saying, "I know, but I want to support you. I want to be here for you, while I still can."

Seeing the love in her eyes makes my heart feel lighter. I take hold of her hand and press a soft kiss to her knuckles. I then shift closer to her, and we share a soft, languid kiss. Just as I begin to deepen it, I am alerted to the sound of a vehicle's alarm system being unarmed with a series of loud, sharp beeps. I draw away from Michonne, and turn my attention to Blake's home. I see red when my eyes fall on him. My hand comes to rest on my gun.

"Is that him?" Michonne whispers.

"Yeah," I offer in response, feeling the urge to step out of the car, walk over, and put a bullet in his brain. "That's him."

She places her hand on my thigh, sensing the shift in my mood, and then says, "Let me see the binoculars."

I hand them over, and then try to steady my breathing as the ire continues to rise up inside of me.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

He looks like any regular person, I surmise, as I focus my gaze on Philip Blake. Some average Joe starting his day in his mundane, suburban life. He is unassuming in his garden center work uniform as he places a bag in the backseat of his car. He closes the door, and then walks back toward his residence, before stepping inside.

"You okay?" I ask, giving Rick a concerned look. His entire demeanor changed from one that was emanating love, to anger. It still gives me chills how he goes from one extreme to the other. He nods his head.

"Looks like he's off to work," I say softly, thankful that he cannot see us through the tinted windows. "Let's give it twenty minutes, to make sure he's not coming back anytime soon, and then we'll check the house out."

…..

Rick seems eager to make a move. I check the clock on the dash of the car, and note that enough time has lapsed without Blake returning. It is safe to say his workday has started and there is little reason for him to be returning home soon.

"We should drive around the block," I offer. "Make sure we have escape routes identified in case he comes back and surprises us. We don't want to be caught in his home and have him alert the Marshals. We need a clear way in, and out."

"Good idea," says Rick. "Sometimes I forget you have law enforcement training."

"Yeah," I reply. "Ditto."

We share a smile, and then Rick starts the engine. We ride quietly as we circle the block. I vaguely think about all of the normal people that live in these nice homes. Living their normal lives; doing normal things. It is such a contrast to what Rick and I are doing right now. Casing the home of the man we are most likely going to murder today.

 _Fuck._ How did it come to this? All I know is Rick wants to do this, so I am going to be here with him. And if I am completely honest with myself, I know that deep down I want to see Blake burn for what he did. I want to watch as Rick kills him.

I am drawn from my morbid thoughts when Rick says, "Would you look at that; we're in luck today, Baby."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I pull on the black latex gloves, and then place the handgun at the small of my back. Michonne does as I do, minus fixing a weapon to her person, and then we step through the discreet gate at the back of Blake's home; it leads into a small alleyway and gives us a perfect opportunity to access the yard. Once inside the fence, Michonne goes to the cut the power, and I pick the lock of the backdoor. We wait a short while, glad that we did not trip any alarms, and then we enter into the kitchen.

It's small and dull; very plain, like a motel room. There's a little table with two chairs; an oven; fridge; coffee pot; and microwave. Michonne moves through into the living room, and I follow. It's just as dull as the kitchen, though marginally larger. One sofa; one armchair; a coffee table; and a small television on a low stand. There are no photographs adorning the walls. There is nothing to even suggest that anyone lives here, let alone what _kind_ of person lives here.

"Looks like a crash pad," Michonne offers, as she peers into the door that leads to his bedroom. "I've lived in plenty of them and this looks like one."

"They're not doing much to make him seem integrated here," I offer. "But I guess he ain't been here that long."

I follow Michonne to the bedroom. She searches his drawers while I go to the closet. There are no signs of him being in possession of any firearms or anything else. I step into the bathroom to be certain that he isn't hiding any weapons under the sink.

"All clear," I say, as Michonne takes a seat on the bed. I sit next to her. "What now?"

"Get Abe to drive up here with a van and leave it in the alley out back," she offers, a seriousness to her tone. "He can take the other car back with him, and we'll use the van to get Blake out of here."

"All right," I reply, thoroughly impressed with how calculating she is. "Sounds good."

She offers me a nod, and I can't help but notice for the hundredth time just how beautiful she is.

"What do we do in the meantime?" I ask, staring intently into her eyes.

"Hmm," she shrugs, before biting her bottom lip; her expression changing from stern to playful with a glint of wickedness in her pretty brown eyes. "We should fuck on his bed."

My cock starts growing hard. I smirk at her and then ask, "Really?"

"Yes," she replies, running her gloved hand up my thigh, inching closer to my hardness.

"What about DNA evidence and all o' that shit?" I ask, covering her hand and bringing it to my growing erection; half serious, half not giving a fuck if we come all over his boring little house.

"We'll just take the bedcovers with us," she says with a devilish grin. "Wrap his body in them before we burn it."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

When I thought about where I wanted to be in my life, in my career, I never imagined this. I never thought I'd be face down, ass up and waiting to be fucked on the bed of the man who was going to die that day; whose murder I was going to be an accessory to. But, whose life ever turned out the way they imagined anyway?

 _Fuck._

My current train of thought is interrupted when I feel Rick's hand reach between my legs. He strums my clit from behind and I let out a little moan. His fingers massage my nub, as he slides his thumb into my pussy to see how wet I am. And I am wet for him. The thought of what we are going to do, the revenge Rick is going to have, has had me worked up all morning. His steely gaze and dedication to getting this task done, plus knowing the violence he is capable of, has turned me on. I can admit that now. The darkness is part of him, and I want all of him near me, surrounding me, and inside of me.

"You ready?" he asks, positioning himself closer to me.

I turn my head to face him, as he grips my hip with one hand, and uses the other to guide the tip of his big, red cock over my dripping opening.

"Yes," I reply, readying myself to once again be impaled by him. "Fuck me."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

God.

She is so amazing.

Being caught up in the moment with her, having her commit to helping me with what I need to do, gives me such an indescribable sense of contentment. She is my equal in every way. My match.

 _My soulmate._

There is no one I would rather be with right now.

 _Fuck._

I'm drawn from my thoughts by the way she clenches her walls around me. I let out little grunts as I drive my dick into her again and again. I love watching the way her ass shakes each time I thrust forward. I love the sound of our skin slapping together; the way she moans when I hit her spot. I love the way her tight, wet sex envelops my engorged manhood. I love watching my cock slide in and out of her sweet pussy. How it is drenched and glistening each time I draw it from between her swollen lips. She's close. I see her cream coating my thick, veiny shaft.

"Hmmm, Daddy," she moans as I reach around and rub her clit before hastening my movements.

I use the other hand to grip her throat as I fuck her harder, faster, relentlessly. My sex is straining and dripping; aching to come, but I have to get her there first. She starts to rock her hips backwards, meeting my thrusts and her whimpers grow louder, as her breathing quickens.

"Fuck," I whisper as she clenches around me again. " _Ffffuck."_

My cock quivers as the steady stream of semen shoots from my tip. I keep driving into her, as the she is filled with my essence; small drizzles of come now coat my dick as I continue to slide in and out of her.

"Oh, god," she finally cries out when I bring her to her climax. "Hmmmm, Rick."

My hands shift to her hips. I hold her in place, still with my cock rooted deeply in her womb, as her pussy pulses around me, milking me of the last few drops of my seed. After my breathing evens out, I withdraw myself, and then collapse on the bed next to my love. She shifts toward me, covers my body with hers, and kisses my neck.

"I could do this all day," she whispers in my ear.

I let out an impressed laugh, and then stroke her face, before saying, "Well, we'll be waiting a little while, so I just might hold you to it."


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Hi, all. Thanks for checking out the previous chappie, and for leaving me some feedback. It is most appreciated. This instalment has a fair amount of violence and blood. This one is particularly dark and Rick-centric. You have been warned. Enjoy!

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

Five years is a long time. Five years of hate and screaming for vengeance. I remembered that Blake was snide, but I didn't realize he was this stupid. He must have known that I would find out that he had returned; that I would find him. His eyes flitter open; the dim light of the room seems to assault them. I wait a moment, just until he notices me. Until it registers that he is tied to a chair against his will. He squints in my direction, and then glances around the room.

"I don't know why you showed your face back around these parts," I say, as I sit on the chair in front of him. Blood is still trickling from his temple where I had struck him with the butt of the pistol back at his home. He seems disoriented at first, but when he finally recognizes me, the one who has ambushed and captured him, he smiles. It makes my anger rise. I swallow hard and hold his gaze.

"I didn't expect to see you this soon, Grimes," he says.

"Likewise," I offer.

"Nice set-up you've got here," he says. "I'm guessin' we're out in the sticks where no one can find, or hear me? Probably a cute little cabin your family owns."

"I ain't here to talk real estate with you," I say.

"Well, what are we here for?" he asks.

"You know why," I say, as I stand up and step close; he nods his head.

"Yeah," he replies. "Always knew that would come back to bite me in my ass."

"Then why'd you come back?" I ask, taking the hunting knife from the back of my jeans.

"Because I got another chance," he says flatly.

"What does that mean?"

"Come on, Grimes," he says with a grin. "I got a chance to be reborn; you of all people should know what that means."

…..

5 years ago

 _"So, all of this is yours," Mr. Wheeldon said as he pointed to a sum on the bottom of a piece of paper._

 _"From the Farm?" I asked. I knew we did well with the legitimate side of the family business, but I had never seen the figures. It was impressive, and it was now all mine. I never wanted to take over in any capacity from my Daddy, but now his wealth would help me with my plan: To exact revenge._

 _"That's correct," Wheeldon replied._

 _"What about the other money?" I queried, leaning my elbows on my father's desk in his study._

 _"The other money?" he asked._

 _I sighed loudly then leaned back in the seat, before saying, "The money from his gun racket."_

 _"Right," said Wheeldon. "I wasn't sure what you wanted to do with it. If you wanted to see the books."_

 _"I do want to see them," I said evenly. He nodded his head and then got up from his seat. He made his way to the safe that was hidden behind a painting in my father's office. He keyed in a code, and then retrieved a ledger. He brought it back to me and placed it down on the desk._

 _"We haven't upgraded to anything electronic," he said in way of explanation, before opening up the book and flicking through a few pages. "It's all accounted for here, but comes under a grain and feed supply company."_

 _"As a cover?"_

 _"Yes, son," he answered. "As a cover for what your daddy really sells."_

 _"Guns," I said to no one in particular._

 _"Right you are," Wheeldon confirmed. "If you look here, you'll see how much you have access to."_

 _My eyes scanned the handwritten accounts. There are meticulous entries that Wheeldon has personally made for years for my father's illegal business. When I reached the bottom of the page, I saw the sum of my father's dealings. My eyes grew wide for a brief moment, before I glanced back at the trusted accountant._

 _"How much of that has he taken?" I asked. "And how much has he left for me?"_

 _"He took half of his entire earnings, plus what was in his offshore accounts," Wheeldon explained. "And the rest, around twenty-three million, goes to you."_

 _I nod my head and say, "And I have access to these funds right now?"_

 _"Yes," he replied, before sliding another document towards me. "As soon as you sign your name on the dotted line."_

 _I take up a pen, and then ask, "Where?"_

 _He points to where my signature should go to make the transaction official. With one afternoon of meetings, I had my father's house; his farm; and now his fortune. Everything I needed to operate in the twilight underbelly of the criminal world. Everything I needed for revenge._

…..

"A second chance?" I ask of Blake. "You came back to get a second chance?"

"That, and to bring your old man down," he offers.

"What does my old man have to do with your second chance?" I query. "He's of no consequence to you, now. He's gone."

"Not for long," he retorts. "The Feds are working to bring him back."

So, they're extraditing my father, and Blake wants to speak up to cover his ass? As the kids say: What a plot twist! It'd almost be laughable if I wasn't so filled with hate and rage. I don't know whether or not I should believe him. Now that I have him seated in front of me, bound and bleeding, he seems so small. In my bloodstained daydreams, he appeared larger than life; more significant than death. The hate I feel for him was, for the longest time, all consuming. Now, looking at him, with his cracked skull, and broken body, he is nothing. He _is_ small. He is someone who, through greed, did what he had done to hurt me; and now, I have the upper hand. I am going to make him hurt.

"And your little deal with them is gonna help, uh?" I ask with a laugh.

"Guess the deal is off now that you've got hold of me," he muses.

"You got that right," I say.

"Ya know, Grimes," he starts. "You think I'm bad guy in all o' this…"

"You did kill my family…"

"I killed your brother," he says with a mocking smile. "But you'd be stupid to think I did it without permission."

In all of the shit he has been spilling, this catches my interest, causing me to ask, "What?"

"Come on," he smiles. "You think an up-and-coming drug dealer like me would go after a Dixie Mafia boss' son without being given the go ahead? Your brother's death was a hit. The whole thing. Your daddy paid me to kill your junkie brother, and you're too fuckin' stupid to realize it."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I thought I'd hear screams by now. It's been almost thirty minutes, and Rick and Blake are still locked inside of the cabin, while I am left sitting the front of the van waiting. Although I wanted to stay in there with him while he interrogated Blake, I am kind of happy that Rick insisted I leave them alone. I have been a witness to his rage before; his brutality. And even though the beast inside of him leaves me a quivering, aroused mess, this time, it is best that I leave him to his own devices. This is something that he has to do on his own. I will be there for him when it is done. I will be there to offer him some light in amidst the darkness.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"You lying piece of fucking shit," I say quietly, even though my words are laced with venom.

"I'm not lying," Blake says, before he spits the blood from his mouth. I land another punch to his face, al

"Why should I believe anything you say?" I ask. "You're just some lowlife sadistic fuck who is trying to worm his way out of dyin'."

"Why would I lie to you now?" says Blake. "You're gonna kill me here today. Self-preservation doesn't have shit to do with it. You're going to kill me. I know that. Nothin' I say can change that. I might as well tell you the truth."

"Why?" I ask, shaken slightly by what he has told me; still unsure of if I believe him.

"I'm tellin' you this now," he admits, with the hint of a smile on his cracked, bloody lips. "Because I _am_ a sadistic fuck. I am telling you this truth now because I want to hurt you just this one last time."

Without giving his motivations another thought, I step closer to him and grab him by his throat with one hand; I ready the knife with my other. He sputters, chokes, and tries his hardest to fight for his breath all while I tighten my grip on his neck and hold his stare. In spite of his tough-talk and nonchalance about his who ordeal, I see it there lurching in the back of his glazed over eyes: It is fear. He may have come to terms with his impending death, but it doesn't mean he isn't afraid. I see it, and it makes the pounding in my head dissipate.

My face offers no readable expression; it is impassive and empty. I release my grip on his throat and shift it to his hair. Taking hold, I pull his head to the side and expose his neck. He coughs and swallows hard, closing his eyes.

"Look at me," I command, as I place the cold blade against his neck. "Now."

He does as he is told, and I stare into the grey of his eyes. When the knife pierces his skin, he does not cry out. By the time I rip it across his throat, he is unable to scream. Blood spurts from the wound and covers my face and clothing. I watch as his body jerks unceremoniously and the life drains from him. I let go of his hair, and his head falls to the side. Before I grab the bedlinen to cover his corpse, I spit on his remains.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I am startled when Rick taps his knuckles on the window. I turn quickly to meet his gaze. He is covered in blood; his eyes are wild and he looks slightly unhinged. Nevertheless, his stare is mostly cold; the type of cold that sends a quiver snaking up and down my spine. I roll the window down and wait for him to speak.

"Grab the bag," he instructs, referring to the change of clothes that his people sent when they exchanged vehicles. "I need to get cleaned up, and then we can go."

I pick up the duffle, and then climb out of the van.

"Michonne," he says softly in protest.

"It's fine," I say. "I want to help you."

He nods his head and then takes the bag from me; I follow him inside of the cabin. The same bedsheets we brought from Blake's home are now covering his lifeless body. Rick doesn't look at it as we pass. His clean-up crew is already on their way; there is nothing else he needs to do other than wash this man's blood away.

We make our way silently to the bathroom. He places the duffle bag down on the modest vanity, and then looks at himself in the mirror. I stand behind him and watch; our eyes lock for a moment, and then he turns to face me. I step forward and begin to unbutton his shirt. He keeps his eyes on mine the whole time. The redness of the blood covering his face is a stark contrast to the cobalt blue of his steely irises.

I undo the last button, and then place my hands to his shoulders. Slowly, I draw the shirt from his body and let it fall to the floor. His chest rises and falls steadily. I run my hands down his firm body; his skin is hot under my touch. I come to a rest at his belt buckle, and then unclasp it. I can see his erection straining against his jeans. I feel that familiar throbbing between my thighs. His hands cover mine and stop me.

"Turn the shower on and get undressed," he says, and I oblige.

I run my fingers under the stream of cold water, and then begin to disrobe. When I turn around to face Rick, he is as naked as I am. I search his form; my gaze slinking from his bloodied face to his large erection. He places his hands to my hips and walks me backward until we are under the shower. We stare intensely at one another before I begin to wash the blood from his face. It runs down his body, and slips away down the drain.

Soon thereafter, all evidence is washed away, but I continue to stroke his face. I can see the conflict still swirling away inside of him. It seems that killing Blake has not brought him much peace. I do not query him, I do not speak, instead I keep caressing his skin. I draw him closer and palm away the tension in his muscles. I press my forehead to his while running my hands up and down his arms.

The water pours over us as I touch him. It is cleansing. It is cathartic. Our lips meet in a gentle kiss. Rick's hands soon find my ass, as he lifts me from the floor, and presses my back to the wall. I wrap my legs around his waist as he inches his cock inside of me. He bites, sucks, and kisses my neck while thrusting his hardness into my eager pussy again and yet again. A loud moan escapes his lips before he offers me an earnest and grateful, "Thank you."


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: Thank you all for the continued support! Please accept this offering.

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

I sit in the dark, naked as the day I was born. My feet rest against the old floorboards of our bedroom. The smell of sex permeates the air. The musky, delicious aroma of her sweet pussy mixed with my scent and the faint coppery whiff of blood. The night is warm and not far enough from the day before. I just want to spend this time away from everyone else; away from everything else. I want to stay locked away from the world; stay here with her. Even though we are alone, thoughts from the outside claw at me and keep me awake. Thoughts I don't want to face just yet. I try to focus on what me and Michonne have done since we returned home.

I lick my cracked lips and taste traces of her nectar. I recall inhaling and devouring her hot, wet cunt like I was drinking from some fountain of youth. Like her life force filled me when she called out my name and came in my mouth.

I clench my jaw. The pounding in my head persists as the outside thoughts push their way back in. I am tense and I know she can feel it as she lays sprawled out behind me on our bed. I still haven't told her what Blake said; she accusation he made. I don't even know if I can believe what he said. I realize there is only one real way of knowing: I need to contact my father. The same father who left me his kingdom and his wealth. The father who left me when I needed him the most. I need more time, but time is not on my side. No one is, only her. Beautiful Michonne. She stirs and reaches for me. Her soft hand brushing my back.

"Come back to bed," she pleads; I mumble some weak excuse not to. I feel her shift behind me. She kneels and places both hands to my shoulders.

"You're so tense," she whispers in the dark.

"Was a rough day," I offer.

I feel her lips come to rest at the nape of my neck before she gently begins to massage. It feels good; it eases my tension somewhat. My eyes roll shut as she works her hands over my shoulders and down my back. She kisses where her hands have been and continues to knead my aching flesh.  
She shifts her position so that her legs are parted and I am sitting between them with my back to her chest. I feel the heat of her sex against my back. It causes my cock to twitch. She holds me, wraps her arms around me and rests her head against my back.

"I love you," she whispers, before kissing my bare shoulder.

"I love you, too," I reply.

xXxXx

 _Michonne's POV_

"Lie down," I whisper to Rick. "Let me make you feel better."

He remains quiet and then moves from between my legs. He lies on his stomach, and I straddle his backside. I work my hands over his back and shoulders as I try to get him to relax. Each time I knead his muscles, my pussy rubs against his ass. I like how that feels, so I do it again…and again. _Hmmmm._ And again. I know he can feel it. I know he can tell how wet I am; how I am dripping. I continue to massage him as I roll my hips.

"I know what you're doin'," he finally offers, with some mirth to his cadence.

I lean down and kiss his heated skin and say, "Sorry, Daddy. It feels so good, but I'll focus on making you feel better..."

"It's fine," he offers. "Keep goin'. I want you to come."

I smile and then reply, "Yes, Sir."

I build up a steady rhythm as I massage him and grind against his ass. I use my fingers to scratch across his skin before I grip his shoulders and lean down. I grind faster, letting my clit press against his firm buttocks.

"Aahhh," I moan as I quicken my pace and dig my nails into his flesh. He lets out a growl and shifts beneath me.

I lean back, lick my fingers on both hands, and use them to wet my nipples. When they grow stiff, I lean down and rub my tits over his skin, while I keep grinding my dripping pussy against him. Pleasure washes over me and my attentiveness to Rick's massage gives way to my own needs. If he is displeased with me focussing on my own pleasure, he does not give voice to it. Satisfied that my actions are truly welcomed by him, I become more determined to get off right now. To use his body to tip me over the edge. I grasp his shoulders again as I roll my hips harder and faster. The friction of his skin on my clit draws me closer and closer to my release.

"Oh, shit," I cry, as my orgasm ripples through my core. "Hmmmm."

Before I can even collapse in a sated heap, Rick flips me over and has me on my back. While my pussy is still pulsating, and I fight to steady my breathing, he slides his thick cock inside of me and starts to thrust. He covers my body with his, and captures my mouth in a messy kiss. I close my eyes and hold on to him with all of my strength as he rocks on top of me. All of my senses are alight; my mind is swimming. An elusive thought flutters by and I take notice of it briefly as it laments, _I don't ever want this to end._

…..

I sit on the back porch and sip from my herbal tea, feigning contentment in the afternoon sun. My thoughts wander to Rick, like always. There's something different about him. I can sense it. After he took care of Blake, he came back to me and there was a change. I won't push him. I will wait for him to tell me. He still hasn't opened up about what happened when they were alone in the cabin. I figure he will speak when he is ready; when he has processed whatever it is he learned from the man who took his family from him. I wish there was something I could do to ease his mind. I think I need to be real with myself here: I don't want to lose him to our judicial system. I need more time with him. I think I want to find a way for us to be together away from all of this, maybe I am being stupid or naïve, but I cannot see a future without him in it. I know; _I know._ I'm too far gone.

 _Rick's POV_

This debrief with Abe and Ty is going slowly. I check my wristwatch absentmindedly. I need more time. _Damn it_! There's not gonna be enough time. The next meeting with Negan will be happening soon. The Feds will have what they need, and then they'll expect me to go quietly as per our deal. I have to prolong my time on the outside. I have to get to the bottom of what _really_ happened to my family; even if it means seeking out my father. Even if it means I won't like what I find. And then there's Michonne.

I can't be without her. I know this. I will lose my mind completely if I have to live the rest of my life locked away from her. Life is not even worth living if she is not by my side. I know this for certain. The love I have for her is my only certainty, and what we have can be stripped away just like that; like a page torn from a book, ending our story. I need to change that, but first, I have to do something. I take out my phone and scroll through the contacts. Finding Deanna's details, I call her on her secure line. After a brief moment, she answers. She always sounds so happy to hear my voice.

"Rick," she says. "You sound tired. Are you okay?"

It's uncanny how she can tell something isn't quite right with me. I sigh and say, "Not really. I've been keeping something from you. A couple of things, actually."

"Okay," she says calmly; I've always admired that about her. "Is any of this going to hurt me or my business?"

"No," I reassure her. "It's going to hurt me. I've kept you out of everything, until now."

"What do you need me to do, son?" she asks, and her term of endearment tugs at my heart, like it always does.

"I need your help," I proffer. "I need to reach out to Daddy Gene."

"Rick, I…"

"Please," I interject; she hears the desperation in my voice. "I know you have ways to find him. I just need to speak to him one time, and that's it. I won't ask anything of you ever again, I promise."

"You don't have to promise that," she tells me. "I am always here for you, Rick. For anything."

"Thank you," I offer, knowing she speaks only the truth. "So, you'll find him for me?"

"I will," she replies. "But why now, after all these years?"

"Because I need to look him in the eyes and ask a question," I explain.

"And that is?"

"I have to ask if he had Jeff killed," I say evenly.

"And if he admits that he did?" she queries calmly.

I tilt my head to the side, narrow my eyes and then say, "Then I'm gonna kill him."


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: Hello, my lovelies. Thanks for checking out the last instalment, especially those who left feedback. So, I've been waiting to get to this part of my story for a while, and I am so happy to share it with you all right now. Enjoy!

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

"Rick," Deanna says softly. "You don't mean that…"

"I do mean it," I reply.

"You can't…"

"And why not? What kind of father has he been to me? To Jeff? He abandoned both of us when we needed him the most. He never liked the choices I made; always wanted me to get involved with the family business. You were more of a parent to me than he ever was," I offer, as the line grows quiet.

"Honey," she finally says, gently. "I know he hasn't always been the best…"

"Please don't do that," I say. "Don't take his side…"

"I'm not taking his side, Rick," she says.

"Well, don't make excuses for him," I retort. "He was a shitty father. All we wanted to do was make him happy. When we couldn't, he tossed us away like yesterday's trash."

"You have every right to be angry at him," Deanna says. "But I don't want you jumping the gun on this…"

"Hold on a damn minute," I say when the realization finally hits me. "Why aren't you asking me _where_ I got my information from?"

"Excuse me?" she replies, sounding as if she was taken aback.

"Just then, when I said I needed to ask my father if he killed my brother," I say. "You didn't even question _why._ Is there somethin' you're not tellin' me?"

"Rick, it's nothing like what you're thinking," she says softly. "I just knew that you'd eventually ask the question. There have been enough rumors going around about what happened that night. I'm surprised you actually didn't hear them."

"Are you keeping something from me, Deanna?" I ask, ignoring her explanation.

"No," she replies firmly. "Not about this. I don't know anything about it. I assumed Philip Blake was responsible all this time. The fact that you're calling me saying otherwise is a surprise. Who told you that your father was the one who killed Jeffrey?"

"Blake told me," I say flatly.

"What did you do, Rick?"

"I paid him a visit."

"Was Emm with you?"

"Does it matter?"

"I need you to get your ass up here right away," she says.

"I can't just drop everything," I say. "I'm meeting with the Saviors in less than forty-eight hours."

"Rick, listen to me," Deanna insists. "Come to my place right away. There are things I need to tell you in person. I'll answer all of your questions then, face-to-face."

"I will, but I need to meet with this asshole first," I say. "It has to be done. There's no way out of it; can't reschedule it now..."

"You tell him _I_ said to reschedule it," she all but demands. "He knows who I am. Tell him, and then be here by tomorrow. No excuses. And bring Spencer with you."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

My tummy growls and I absently wonder what is taking Tobin so long with lunch. I check my phone as I wait for Rick to join me. His meeting with his men seems to have gone longer than he had said it would. I stare down at my screen feel a little guilty.

 _I haven't heard from you for two days_ , Glenn's text message reads.

 _Wasn't able to speak freely or make any contact,_ I reply, as the messages disappear as quickly as they arrive.

 _Is everything OK? All going to plan?_

 _Yes,_ I answer. _Everything is good. The meeting is still a go. We'll have what we need to move on the target._

 _Good,_ he responds. _Now remember, this is just gathering intel. Do not blow your cover._

 _Copy that,_ I answer.

 _You deserve a well-earned break after this. You've done enough,_ he adds, quite sentimentally. _A collar like this will set you up for the rest of your career. You'll be promoted and never have to go UC again._

I sigh loudly, knowing what he is saying to be true, before typing, _Thank you for working with me. For everything you've done to keep me safe._

 _Any time,_ he responds. _You sure you're OK?_

 _I am,_ I text back. _I'm seeing that finish line and it's all good._

My focus is drawn from my phone to the man who takes up a seat adjacent to me. It is Spencer. I offer him an amicable smile, which he returns.

"I've missed you around the place," he says. I instinctively glance around the immediate area to ensure Rick isn't within earshot.

"Yeah, I had to spend some time back at my apartment," I lie, not wanting him to know where we had been and what we had done.

"Everything okay with you and the Boss?" he pries. "I noticed he wasn't around much either."

"Yeah," I answer. "Everything's fine. He was busy, so I took a little break from everything here while he worked. But enough about us, how are you, Spence?"

He nods his head and gives me a crooked smile, as he runs his fingers through his hair and says, "I'm good. It's been quiet without you."

"I'm sure the others have been keeping you busy," I muse.

"Sure," he answers. "But they're not you."

"Spence…"

"I just mean no one else takes the time to talk to me like you do," he offers. "I'm still like an outsider to them. The only reason no one says anything is because of my mom. Even she has more pull than your boyfriend."

I don't say anything, I just nod my head. I want to ask him why he called his mother to squeal on Rick after he had beaten him. I also wonder why Deanna didn't do anything except make them work closer together. Their whole dynamic is interesting for me. Spencer seems like he will follow and do whatever his mother and Rick tell him to. Rick, on the other hand, answers only to Deanna. They are like a family, and she has her boys deep in this life. Sometimes I wonder if Rick even had a choice in all of this. Yet, when I reflect on my own family and upbringing, I surmise I made my own choices in life. Even now, as I go against my job and my superiors, I have made my choice. I chose Rick.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"This isn't how we do business, Rick," says Negan in to the phone. "Haven't you ever heard of the customer is always right?"

"I need to push the meeting back a week," I reply. "If you want to keep this business arrangement going, you're gonna have to bend a little. Besides, I'm sure you know Deanna Monroe. This is her call."

"Is that so?"

"It is. You gotta remember there are bigger fish in this pond than the two of us," I remind him. "So we're gonna push it back, okay?"

I hear him suck his teeth before replying, "Okay. I'll get back to you with a new venue."

"Good."

"Oh, and could you tell Mrs. Monroe I said hello?"

I make no reply, but simply end the call. Now I have to tell Michonne that the plan has changed.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Here comes Rick, looking stern. He doesn't say anything as he approaches Spencer and I. The younger man gets to his feet and steps away, vacating the seat for his boss. Rick gives him an unimpressed glare and then sits. He looks like he has a lot on his mind. I wait for him to dismiss Spencer; instead, he speaks to him.

"Get the car ready," he instructs. "We leave after lunch."

"Yes, Boss," says Spencer before walking away.

"Where are we going?" I ask Rick.

"To Deanna's. She needs to see me," he explains. "I want you there with me."

…..

We did not speak much about business on our way to Deanna's estate. Rick sat close to me the whole journey. I know he doesn't like speaking about certain things in front of Spencer, so I was pleased when Rick and I were alone in our quarters; it was the same room we stayed in before. My face grew warm as I recalled what he and I had done in that bed. I am brought back to the present by Rick's loud sigh as he flops down on said bed. I place my purse on the chair and go to him. Taking up a seat next to him, I cover his hand with mine.

"What is it?" I ask gently, knowing he has not been the same since he killed Blake. "I know something's been on your mind since we took our little trip."

He holds my gaze, before brushing his fingers across my face and giving me a mournful look.

"I didn't want to drag you into any of this," he says.

"It's my job," I answer. "I'm used to it. I played my part."

"Not that part," he offers. "The other stuff we didn't plan for. What I did. What you helped me to do, it could get you in a lot of trouble. If your bosses were to find out, you'd be done."

"They're not going to," I say, finding my confidence. "You trust your men not to talk?"

"Yes," he replies.

"Well, I trust in what you do," I offer. "And I trust you."

He leans in and presses a chaste kiss to my lips, before saying, "I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

"I know," I answer. "I just want to be with you."

He nods his head, and then says, "But we have to face reality: I won't be here for much longer. And I don't want anything gettin' in the way of you succeeding, not even me."

"What are you saying?" I ask with concern.

"I'm sayin' I…I need to get myself ready for a life without you," he admits and my hearts sinks at his words, even though I know he is right. I feel deflated. My eyes start to water and the look in his eyes almost breaks my heart.

"Are you saying you don't want to be with me while…"

"No," he says firmly, while cupping my face. "I still want to be with you while I have the chance to be. I just meant time's ticking away, Michonne. We don't have much of it before you take down Negan and I go to prison."

I nod and fight back the tears, before taking a long, calming breath. I take his hand and kiss his knuckles, and then say, "What if we had more time? What if we had _all_ the time we wanted?"

"Michonne?" he asks, with curiosity in his eyes and his brow knit.

"Deanna, she's connected, right?"

"Yes," he replied. "Old money; wide reach."

"She can help us, Rick," I say, with my eyes as bright as my hopeful smile. "She can help us leave this all of this behind, for good."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

Even though Deanna had told me I needed to be there as soon as I possibly could, she did not meet with us until after dinner. If I didn't know her better, I would say making us wait resembled a power move my father used to pull all the time. But if Deanna said she got held up, I had no reason to be disbelieving. She explained to me over the phone that a sudden meeting had come up while we were traveling. Michonne and I passed some of the time by reacquainting ourselves with that four-poster bed in the guest room. I lick my bottom lip and still taste Michonne's nectar; I still smell her. I reach over and place a possessive hand to her leg as we wait for Deanna to speak.

"Do you remember this?" the lady of the house asks of me. She points to the mahogany case set atop her large desk.

"The Smith and Wesson number one?" I ask with mirth as Deanna slips the white cotton gloves onto her hand before opening the case.

"Yes," she smiles. "The very same one. You know, your father gave it to me as a gift when you were still a boy?"

"I remember," I say with a crooked grin as she removes it from the box.

"His father was always generous with me," she says to Michonne while turning the revolver over in her hands.

"It's beautiful," Michonne replies politely.

"Rick has always loved it, haven't you?" she asks, turning her attention to me.

"Yes, ma'am," I answer.

"Always wanted to see it whenever they would visit," she says to Michonne; I nod in agreement.

I've seen the pistol many times before when I was younger. I always admired the pearl grips and delicate details adorning the nickel and gold body. I do recall the time when my father gave it to Deanna as a gift. She kept it in that wooden box in her office. I always thought it was stunning. I've never seen it out of its case before. As she runs her fingers over it, the light from overhead catches the cool metal and gleams prettily.

"Rick is like his father in that way," Deanne says, staring right at Michonne. I feel the mood of the room change as her blue eyes grow cold. "He's always liked beautiful, dangerous things; even when he knows they can hurt him."

She cocks the hammer, keeps her gaze locked on Michonne, and then asks me, "Isn't that so, honey?"

I don't say anything. I glance between her and Michonne as my mind begins to race. It feels as if time is coming to a standstill and a thick chill has settled over us. Just as Deanna raises her antique pistol and aims it at Michonne, I leap from my seat and place my own body between them.

"No!" I call out, holding my outstretched arm toward Deanna, and placing a protective hand on Michonne.

"Move, Rick," says Deanna evenly, without even batting an eyelid. "She's not what you think she is; she's a Fed."


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: Happy New Year, Dear Readers. I hope you had a safe and relaxing holiday break. Thanks so much to for sticking with me. I appreciate all of those who just started reading this. Thanks for the reviews; they give me life. Okay, let's see what's going on with our OTP. Picking up where we left off.

* * *

 _Michonne's POV_

"Drop the gun!" Rick says as I instinctively hold my hands up. Deanna keeps her eyes on me. They are determined and steely, much like Rick's. I cannot focus on that realization right now because if she is anything like her surrogate son, I am not long for this world.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" she asks calmly, while not looking at him. "She's a Fed, Rick. Why are you protecting her?"

"I know she is," he admits, and I feel my stomach drop lower.

Now her eyes find his as the dubious glare sets in before she says, "What are you saying?"

"Please," says Rick as he steps closer to her, and makes sure I am secure behind his form. "I know who she is. So just put that pistol away and I'll explain everything."

I close my eyes a moment, half expecting Deanna to shoot us both. When she doesn't, I chance a peek. Surprisingly, the stern-faced woman lowers her antique weapon and stares at Rick with interest.

"Go on," she says, before glaring at me. "Explain. And it better be good."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I can't tell if Deanna is upset with me right now. She's staring just past me, not making eye contact. Her face is blank. She is processing everything I've just told her. Michonne is sitting quietly at my side. The silence in this room is so heavy. I can feel the tension in Michonne's body; she is keeping her breaths slow and even, but the way she is gripping my hand is telling: She is as uncertain as I am. I don't speak; I only wait. Knowing Deanna for this long as told me that most things run on her time. She really does need time to process this newfound information.

I rub my thumb over Michonne's to comfort her. She has been through enough. When this is over, I only want her to be happy. My own happiness doesn't even matter, so long as she is safe and far from this place and these people I associate with.

"Why didn't you tell me you made the deal?" Deanna finally asks. I meet her gaze and inhale deeply.

"I didn't want to get you mixed up in everything," I say earnestly.

"I love you, Rick," she offered. "Everything that is going on with you has an impact on me."

"I didn't want to bring you under scrutiny," I admit. "It was best that you didn't know what was happening."

"You don't have to protect me," she replies. "I don't need protecting. But, you. Rick, I could have helped _you._ "

"You can help me, now," I say as I lean forward. "I need answers. I need to know where my father is. You can help me with that, please."

She clasps her hands together and brings them under her chin. She is contemplating what I am asking of her, yet again. She inhales and then glances down at the top of her desk. After a moment, she looks at Michonne, then at me, and says, "I'll find him."

"Thank you," I say with relief.

"You leave it with me," she offers. "Stay tonight, and in the morning I will tell you everything I know I about your father's whereabouts."

I nod my head before saying, "We'll be there. Thank you."

I wait for her to let me know she is done and we are allowed to leave; she nods her head and leans back in her chair. She's much more relaxed now than she was earlier when she had a gun pointed at us.

"You're welcome," she offers. "Please fetch Spencer; I need to speak to you both privately."

"I will," I say while I stand and ready myself to leave. Michonne stands beside me, holding my hand, but she does not move when I do.

"Deanna?" she says.

"Yes, _Michonne_ ," she answers.

"Can I make an appointment to see you tomorrow?"

I glance between them. Deanna eyes Michonne.

"Meet me tomorrow for breakfast," she offers.

"Thank you," says Michonne, before looking at me and saying, "You wait here; I'll go get Spence."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I walk hurriedly in search of Spencer. I am a little shaken, but I am okay. It wasn't the first time I had a gun pointed at me; probably won't be the last. I don't hold it against Deanna. I would do the same thing if I was in her position. I would do anything to protect Rick. That's why I need to meet with this woman alone: I need her help, _we_ need her help.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

Spencer joined us maybe ten minutes after Michonne went to get him. I am presently thinking what Michonne could possibly need to talk to Deanna about. I don't think there will be any kind of trouble between them; we're all on the same page. Either way, I won't let anything bad happen to Michonne; I just won't.

"You've had so much hurt in your life," Deanna says gently, speaking to me and interrupting my train of thought. "It hasn't been easy for me to watch your suffering, especially when I know I've done so much damage myself."

Spencer sits in silence, and I meet his mother's gaze.

"You've been nothin' but kind to me from day one," I say sincerely, wondering what she could possibly be referring to.

"I could have given you a different life," she says shakily. I see the tears welling in her eyes as her lip begins to tremble. "You didn't stand a chance..."

"That ain't on you," I reassure her. "Every shitty thing that's happened in my life is somehow connected to Daddy Gene. You're not to blame for any of it."

She takes a deep breath, and then closes her eyes, before saying, "No, Rick. I am to blame. I have something I need to tell the both of you."

She takes a seat, looking defeated. I have never seen her like this before. Though small in stature, she has always been an overwhelmingly large character. She has never paled in anyone's presence. I grow worried.

"What're you talkin' about?" I ask, suddenly concerned.

"I should have told you this years ago," she says with a slight tremble in her tone.

"Deanna? What is it?" I press.

"I'm...I'm so sorry, honey," she stammers. "I'm your…I'm your mother."

My heart sinks as I search her eyes for any hint that this is a cruel joke. I find only sincerity and truth in them.

"You're my son, mine and Gene's," she offers in explanation. "I gave you to him."

I can't speak. I try to reply but the words escape me. I can see her lips moving, but the loud ringing in my ears drowns out what she is saying. I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes a moment. Spencer has already moved to leave the room. The slamming of the door shakes me from my daze.

"Rick?" she asks, reaching for my hand. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Don't!" I yell, snatching my hand away from hers as I stand.

"Rick, please..." she begs as I storm out of the room.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Rick stalks into the room. It startles me slightly. He begins to pace; his hands are threaded through his hair, fingers intertwined. He is trembling. I have never seen him like this. Tears fill his beautiful eyes; the clear blue irises framed by the redness of rage.

I'm can feel the anger radiating from his body. It's like a searing heat that encapsulates his form. He always embodies extremes: Heat and cold; mercy and severity; love and hate. Now, as he paces in front of me, all of those clashing degrees of emotion and existence that dwell inside of him scream to get out.

I stay seated on the bed and gently say, "Rick?"

...

 _Rick's POV_

Just her soft voice whispering my name inches me away from exploding. I stop my pacing and throw her a tired look.

"Rick," she says once more. "What happened?"

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and then tell her. I tell her about Deanna's revelation and how I feel betrayed. How my father kept it from me; how she kept it from me. How I'm fucking angry and I don't want to be. How everyone I have every trusted and loved has let me down.

"Come here," she urges softly, gesturing with her hand. I go to her and take up a seat beside her on the bed. She shifts closer, presses a kiss to my temple, and then leans her head on my shoulder. My heart rate slows when she wraps her arm around my back.

"I'm sorry they lied to you," she offers. "Family can be... _complicated_."

"They're fucked up," I reply.

"They are," she agrees. "Deanna shouldn't've kept it from you. But, I get why she did it."

"To protect me?" I scoff, sounding harsher than I meant to.

"No," she says firmly. "If she wanted to protect you, she'd have taken you away from having anything to do with this life. She most likely kept it from you to believe her own lies; to keep her story straight so she could do what she needed to do. I get it. She kept it from you to believe that handing you over to that man was best for you. But it wasn't; it was what was best for her. And, Rick, that's okay."

"You think it's okay that she lied to me all this time?"

"No," she answers. "It's okay that she even had the choice. It wasn't the best choice, but she still had the opportunity to see you grow up."

I listen to what she is saying.

"She was still there for you, in her own way. In the only way she thought she could be. It was fucked up that you found out this way, and yes, you should be angry at her, but please don't dwell on it. Please move forward from it. She loves you, Rick, and that's what matters."

I feel the straining in my throat ease, and the tightness in my chest fall away. Her words make sense. They soothe me. I feel calmer when Michonne is near. I don't know how I will cope when all this is over and they send me away from her. I sigh. We sit in silence a while. I know she is right.

I take hold of her hand then bring it to my lips to kiss.

"Thank you," I whisper. "For always being an anchor for me."

She strokes my hair and says, "Always."

My breathing has returned to normal. I turn my head to kiss her atop hers. I order my thoughts and proceed to ask her something that was raging inside my mind not very long ago.

"Do you think things would've been different for me if Deanna had've kept me?" I ask. Michonne lifts her head from where it is resting and looks at me.

"I don't know," she replies, giving my hand a squeeze. "That doesn't matter now. We can't let the what-ifs rule how we live our lives now. Choices have been made, by everyone, and you are who you are. That's what I've always admired about you, Rick. You never shied away from who you are, faults and all. You embraced it. It's what I love about you. It's something that won't ever change."

I give her a little smile as I let her words sink in.

"We all have our faults, all of us," she adds. "And we have each other when no one else does. Deanna has your back, regardless of the choices she made. You should go and talk to her and let her explain."

I nod my head in agreement; I should speak to her.

…..

I don't say anything as I stand in the doorway of her study. She is sitting in near darkness, nursing a glass of whiskey. Her eyes are red and she looks tired. I step inside and she gives me an apologetic yet weak smile.

"I'm so sorry, Rick. Are you ready to talk?" she asks softly.

I nod my head and say, "Yeah, I'm ready to listen."

"Okay," she says as I close the door and take a seat across the desk from her. She exhales loudly and finishes her drink, before pouring me one, and topping her glass again.

"I was young and stupid," she starts. "We both were. But your father was married and I wasn't, so I handed you over to him. My family didn't approve of my situation. They sent me away while I was pregnant with you. I knew they wouldn't let me keep you. I thought it was for the best for your father to take you and raise you. At least I knew where you'd be."

"He made my mother raise another woman's baby?" I ask, disgusted in him.

"Yes," she answers. "He is a persuasive man, as you know. Things turned out the way he wanted; he got what he wanted."

"He always has," I offer. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Gene didn't want me to," she offers. "He wanted to keep living the lie. But I just can't do it anymore. Gene's gone, and you will be, too. There's no point in keeping the lie if everyone it revolves around has left me. I'm sorry it had to be this way, Rick; I never meant to hurt you."

We grow quiet; I sip from my drink, then say, "I understand. We do what we have to do. But…Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Yes," she replies.

"Did you _ever_ want me? Did you ever wish you'd have kept me?" I ask, and a lump forms in my throat; I hate that I am feeling anything right now. I avert my gaze.

"Every time I looked at you," she says softly, her voice cracking slightly. "But I made my choice, right or wrong; that doesn't mean I didn't love you, honey."

I glance up and I see the sincerity in her eyes, and my heart aches for her.

"Can you forgive me?" she asks quietly.

"I already have," I reply in earnest.

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

…..

It's drawing close to midnight. I need some fresh air before I return to the room Michonne and I are sharing. I have a slight headache and an unsteady mind. Once my anger and confusion passed because of my conversation with Deanna, my mother, I am outwardly calm. I do my best to push it all deep down.

Yet, there is still this place inside of me that mourns what I have missed: A mother in my life. The woman whom I thought was my mother is a faint memory - someone I didn't even know, not really. Someone I never had the chance to know.

It's like that with Deanna, to be honest. While I knew her growing up, there were so many missed opportunities between us. Though I have processed what she told me, and have forgiven her for giving me away, I understand why. What I don't understand is this dull aching in my chest because of everything that might have been. It's something I cannot afford to be feeling right now: Repentance.

Michonne's words echo in my head about what-ifs. She is right; we can't focus on that. However, when I spot Spencer standing near the front garden, it vaguely registers that _we_ had missed opportunities as well. After sighing loudly, I light up a cigarette and walk toward him. He jumps when he feels my presence, then turns his head.

"Got another one of those?" he asks.

I extend the packet out to him. He takes a smoke and I hold the lighter for him. We stare out over the estate in silence. It occurs to me that I have lost two brothers in my life: Jeff, taken too soon, and Spencer, who I never got the chance to embrace as family.

"It's kind of funny," he says, finally.

I take another pull and then ask, "What's that?"

"All of my life, I looked up to you," he admits. "I wanted to _be_ like you. First, when you were a cop, and then when you took over for your old man. I've always admired you, like someone would admire an older brother. I guess I even felt that, I dunno, _envy_ someone might feel toward a sibling. Mom always favored you, guess we know why."

"Yeah, well, she mustn't've favored me over you that much," I say, somewhat amazed by his openness. "She gave me away."

"She resented me," he proffers, finally. I say nothing in response.

We grow quiet again. The air is calm, but filled with sadness. It floats all around us. We've each had pitiful lives in our own way. A lot of it was to do with our parents; the rest was our own doing.

I finish the cigarette, and then face Spencer, before saying, "If you don't want to keep workin' for me, I understand. Probably best to stay away considering what's coming."

"What's coming?" he asks, straightening his posture.

"The end times," I reply ominously, albeit somewhat jokingly. "Can't you feel it? Nothin' lasts, Monroe. You'd do well to get as far away from us as you can. Empires fall; best to not be found in the rubble."

With that, I walk away and leave my brother standing out in the darkness on his own.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

We arranged to catch up in the secluded area that adjoins the main dining room. She is already waiting for me when I arrive, seated near the far wall.

"Good morning," she says. I greet her in return. One of her staff enters, pours me coffee, and asks what I would like from the kitchen.

"Just some dry toast, please," I say, as I don't have much of an appetite this morning. Deanna notices.

"Not very hungry, dear?" she asks.

"No, ma'am," I reply.

"Well then," she says. "Let's get down to business."

She offers no apology for pointing her gun at me; I do not require, nor would I accept one. I don't blame her for protecting Rick.

"I wanted to ask you something," I start. The attendant returns with my breakfast. We take a moment of pause. When we are alone again, I continue.

"It's about Rick," I say.

"Go on," she urges.

"You understand his situation?"

"The situation he is in, or what's to come after the DOJ is done using him?"

"After," I offer.

"After they're all done patting themselves on the back and stroking each other's dicks? After they lock him away for the rest of his life? Left to rot?"

"Yes," I murmur, suddenly feeling guilty.

"I have come to terms with what it means for Rick," she continues. "I understand."

I nod my head. Everything she says is true. Rick will waste away in prison. He will have a target on him for a number of reasons: Rival outfits seeking to hurt him; his history as a law enforcement officer; for turning State's evidence. While I know he can take care of himself out here, prison is a completely different story.

"Are you in a position to help him?" I query.

"Are you?" she snaps. "It's your fault he's was arrested, after all."

"I was doing my job," I retort. "He knows that. I'm not going to explain myself to anyone else but Rick."

She raises an eyebrow at me, then says, "Playing the blame game isn't going to help him."

"What will help him?" I ask, getting back to the reason I am meeting with her. "I know you have a lot of reach, Deanna. I know you're a powerful woman. Is there anything you can do?"

"He has his own legal team…"

"That's _not_ what I mean," I say, growing frustrated. I need to be more straightforward with her. "His father left the country, undetected. He's been living in exile for years now. I don't know if you helped him with that, but if you do the same for Rick, it would mean everything."

She sits and looks contemplative a moment, and then asks, "Is this what he wants?"

"He...he's accepted his fate," I admit. "But I know he would want to if he had the chance."

"And what do you want, Michonne?"

"I want him to be free," I say softly.

"And you're willing to go against your job? Against the Bureau? You're willing to throw it all away, your whole life, for Rick?"

I remain silent briefly, stare her dead in the eyes, and say, "Yes. Anything for him. Without Rick, nothing else matters."

She gives me an unreadable look, then says, "So this is more for you than it is for him? You want _him_ to stay in _your_ life, so you're willing to have him become an international fugitive?"

"I love him," I say, as if that statement is any kind of explanation. "But this is not for me; it's for him. He's had everything taken from him; _everything_. He's not a saint, and he doesn't deserve it, he's the first to admit that, but I won't be just another person who takes from him anymore."

She eyes me curiously, as I place my hand over my abdomen.

"I won't keep this child, _his_ child, from him," I admit quietly. "So will you help us or not?"

* * *

A/N: Well, it's all happening! Hats off to those who had some amazing conjecture. I don't think anyone will guess what's to come. I'll shut up now! Thanks for reading. I hope to hear your thoughts.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Hey, everyone. Wow, so chapter 30? Thanks for being patient with me. I've had some really stressful family issues, so I've been trying to find the motivation and energy to get this latest chappie edited for your enjoyment. I hope the urgency of their current situation can be felt in the pacing of this instalment. As always, I am grateful for your readership and additional feedback. Let me know what you think. Picking up from where we left off. Thanks!

Warning: Graphic scene of violence (but you've come this far so you're kind of expecting it, yeah?)

* * *

"Well," says Deanna, her eyes wide. "This is some very surprising news. Was it planned?"

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, before recovering quickly. "Of course not. None of this was planned. I never set out to get involved with Rick. To fall for him; to fall pregnant. Yes, I still have to get my test confirmation, but all of this was not in my plan. It all happened like it was probably meant to."

"You believe in fate?" she asks all of a sudden, while eyeing me curiously.

"Maybe," I reply, finding myself being more open with her than with anyone else, aside from Rick. "It's like this: Every choice I have made has led me to this place, in this time. Maybe it was meant to be this way. I don't know. What I _do_ know is _this_ is where I'm at. Being with Rick, carrying his child, that's my reality now. It's the only thing that's been real for me in a very long time, and I am going to protect what I have with all of my resources. So please, will you help me? Will you help _us_?"

She narrows her eyes, and then nods her head, before saying, "Yes; I'll help."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

Michonne and I are back in my mother's office. It's still strange, this realization that she's really my mother. We can't change anything, so we're going to move forward. She slides a dossier across the smooth desktop, and then leans back into her chair.

"I had my people do some digging," she explains. "Had them put a rush on anything they found. This is everything INTERPOL has on your father and his whereabouts."

I open the file and begin to flick through the half a dozen or so pages and attached photographs. There are some censored documents detailing intel from a confidential informant; a copy of rental property lease signed by someone using an assumed name, most likely my father; and a number of surveillance photos. It's him, alright. His hair is different to what I remember; longer, messier, and his beard is fuller. His eyes are the same: Cold.

"Where were these taken?" I query, squinting down at the pages.

"Colombia," she replies. "That was two years ago; they've lost track of him since. It seems he's gone underground. They haven't been able to track the money or anything else that can be linked to him. It looks like he's been keeping a very low profile."

"Colombia?" I say. "I have connections there. _He_ has connections there: It's where our merchandise comes from. He could still be there."

"Rick, you don't know that…"

"No, it makes sense," I counter. "He'd go where he had friends. They're probably covering for him. I have to reach out to them, I have to..."

"Rick," Deanne interjects. "If he was helped by your supplier, he could have already sent word to you through your runners. He doesn't want to be found."

"It's been five years," I say, as I tilt my head to the side. "I don't give a fuck about what he wants."

…..

"Hello, Boss," says the shaky voice at the end of the line. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to get a message to our friends down south," I say to Gareth.

He has recovered from the beating I gave him, and has been a model employee ever since. He sounds surprised that I have called him directly. I usually get one of my other people to make contact, but what I am asking of him is on a need-to-know basis. I don't want the others in my outfit to find out.

"Of course," he replies. "What is it?"

"I need to know if anyone has seen my father," I tell him. "And I need to know as soon as possible."

"Yes, Boss," he supplies. "Was that all?"

"No, there's something else; get a shipment to us in two days' time."

"That's soon, Boss…"

"Make it happen, Gareth," I command. "Or else you'll find yourself unemployed…or worse."

…..

After my phone call with Gareth, I return to Deanna's office to discuss our second point of order: Michonne and I leaving. I was surprised when she told me that she reached out to Deanna. I was surprised that she had agreed to help us. And I was relieved. I'd be lying if I said the thought of running hadn't crossed my mind. When this started, when I was arrested, I accepted my fate. All I could think about was getting my revenge before I was to be locked away. Now, all I can think of is being with Michonne. Everything has changed because of her. She is my fate, and right now it is settled: We're going into exile.

"I can give you the money," Deanna says.

"No," I reply. "Thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I don't want anything to connect directly back to you."

"Rick, I have my ways of getting things done," she retorts. "You know that."

"I know, and you're damn good at it," I say. "But I'm going to get it done on my terms. Please, just make arrangements for our documents, I'll take care of the rest."

"Okay," she concedes. "But if you need anything, I want you to come to me."

I nod and say, "I will. I do appreciate your help, ya know, but we should get goin'."

"Of course," says Deanna, as Michonne and I stand. My mother is hesitant to embrace us; I do not step forward to make it easier on her. "Have a safe trip, and be sure to let me know when you arrive."

"I will," I supply. "Oh, just one more thing before we leave: No one else is to find out about Michonne. Not one other soul. If her cover is blown, I will take everyone else down with me."

"I understand," says Deanna, a little taken aback by my straightforwardness. "No one will ever know."

"Good," I reply, as I take Michonne's hand and lead her out the door. I stop, and then turn to face Deanna before offering her an earnest thank you.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

Wow.

Okay.

I need to breathe.

I can't believe the wheels have been set in motion, and Rick and I are actually going to do this.

We're going to leave it all behind.

Deanna assured us her people could get us fake passports and other documentation by the week's end. I have to admit, I am feeling nervous. There are so many things that can go wrong; there is _so much_ about this that people would view as wrong. But with Rick, everything feels right to me. I know, within my heart of hearts, that we are doing the right thing.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

It's good to be home. Feels funny thinking that now, since I'll be leaving this place for good, soon. I trust that our plan will work, but it's not going to be easy. And I need my own sureties that regardless of if I make it, Michonne will be safe. She smiles at me now as the car comes to a halt in the afternoon sun. Her face, always beautiful, catches the light that creeps through the windshield. I turn off the engine and let out a sigh. She places her hand over mine.

It's only the two of us in the car. Spencer chose to stay with Deanna. It wasn't a complete resignation from his employment; he just needed time with her. He isn't aware that he may not have a job to come back to soon. No one knows. Not one single person who has worked for me over these years; those who've kept my secrets and who have been loyal to me. They don't know that I'm about to abandon them. If they were smart, they'd have an exit plan, too. They chose this life, just like I did; maybe they deserve what's coming to them, just how I deserved the hand I've been dealt.

"Are you okay?" Michonne asks, giving my hand a squeeze, before letting go.

"Yeah," I drawl. "Just tired from the drive. I might go and lie down for a bit. You comin'?"

"Tempting, but I need some time to check in with my handler," Michonne says.

"What for?"

"So they think everything is on schedule."

"Will you tell 'em the next meeting with Negan is happening soon?" I ask, having confirmed a meeting place and time with the Saviors before we returned to the Farm.

"If you want me to," she supplies.

"I think we should wait," I say. "Tell them his camp hasn't confirmed the meeting yet."

"Because we need more time?"

"Yes," I reply.

She looks at me with a contemplative expression and a glint of mirth in her eyes.

"I get it," she offers. "We make the deal, unbeknownst the Bureau, and then keep the cash."

"Smart and beautiful," I say, stroking the side of her face with my hand. "How'd I get so lucky finding you?"

She blesses me with another stunning smile and says, "Shh. I'm the lucky one."

We share a soft kiss before she asks, "So, is that what we're gonna do? Make the deal and take the money?"

"Yes," I reply with a grin of my own. "That's exactly what we do."

"I don't know how I feel about Negan getting the rest of the guns," she say honestly. "Whatever he wants them for isn't going to be good."

"I know," I admit, feeling just as she does.

"Well, what do we do about it?" asks Michonne. " _Do_ we do anything about it?"

"Don't tip your handler off about it just yet," I say. "The meeting's in a couple o' days; I'll figure it out by then."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

The feeling of detachment always comes over me when I go to a clinic or hospital. I don't know if it's the sterility of the place; the bright whiteness that seems to smother you, or knowing that most of the people in the building are afflicted in some way. Whatever it is, I always end up feeling like I am floating outside of my body.

I sit in the uncomfortable chair and stare at a laminated poster on the wall. It details the female reproductive system. There's a three-dimensional model of the same system up on a shelf. I instinctively place my hand over my abdomen and smile to myself. The doctor clears her throat and then swivels her chair to face me, while holding out a piece of paper.

"Most of these you can get over the counter," she offers, speaking of the prenatal vitamins and other medications; she then hands me a stack of pamphlets. "And these have a lot of good information in them. Whatever you choose to do, our doors are always open."

"Thank you," I reply, as I tuck the papers into my purse. "Was there anything else I needed to do?"

"Not at this point," she offers with a gentle smile. "But if you have questions, we're happy to help you with any concerns."

I nod and thank her once more, before standing and making my way to the door. I walk quickly through the waiting room of the clinic, avoiding eye contact with people who are seated there. When I reach the parking lot, I get into the car and then exhale loudly. The doctor has given me the confirmation I needed of what I already knew: I am pregnant.

…..

"You sure you're okay?" asks Glenn. We can speak freely as we're in the apartment the Bureau provided me with. I nod my head, and then sit on the sofa.

"I'm fine," I say. "Just feeling a little anxious. The meeting should have been scheduled by now."

"Do you think Negan suspects something's up?"

"No," I answer. "Well, maybe. I have no way to tell, but I am almost certain he doesn't know anything."

"Did he disclose what he wants the firearms for?"

"Not yet," I answer honestly. "He likes to talk, but he doesn't really say anything."

"Total sociopath," says Glenn.

"Yeah," I agree.

"So, there wasn't anything else?"

"No," I say. "All quiet for now, but that's gonna change soon."

"Yeah," he replies. "Let's hope so."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

The phone only rings once before I answer. It's Negan calling, again. He sounds chipper and it's annoying.

"What do you need?" I ask.

"Well, hello to you, too, sunshine."

"Get to your point," I redirect. "What do you want?"

"So prickly," he laughs. "People might start thinkin' you're a prick."

"And they'd be right," I retort. "Now, what do you want?"

He lets out an irritating little laugh, and then says, "Okay, straight-shooter. I have a proposition. I want you to be my main supplier. From here on out, all of the goods go through you, and you alone. I realize that, with a friendship between us, we can both prosper."

"You could've told me this when we meet in a couple of days."

"I know, Rick," he replies. "But, no shit, I got real excited about the possibilities. I just had to call you. I'm giddy like a school girl, buddy. Ah, the _possibilities_."

I roll my eyes.

"All right, before I commit to anything, tell me, what do you want the products for?" I ask. "That part isn't clear to me."

"Do you always need to know what your customers do with the merchandise?"

"No, not always," I reply. "But I don't usually get repeat customers that want this quantity and at this frequency. If you want me to be the sole supplier, I need to know what you've got planned for the products."

"That's fair enough, Rick," he offers. "I like your style. You're a smart businessman, even if you are a prick. How about this: You bring the rest of my order, and I'll bring a little something extra to show you I'm serious about us becoming real good friends?"

"How much?"

"Fifteen K?"

"Make it twenty, and we've got a deal," I say.

"Aww shit," he says with a laugh. "I can't say no to you. Twenty it is. I'll see you soon. Be sure to bring that fine ass accountant of yours."

He ends the call before I can reply. He makes my skin crawl. I'll be glad when this is all over.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I watch him from the doorway of the kitchen. He is sitting at the table sipping from a beer. He notices me after a moment, and then lifts his head and offers me a smile.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," he replies. "Everything okay?"

"Yep," I answer. "You good?"

"Yeah," he drawls, gesturing for me to sit with him. I stare at him in wonder. He really is beautiful to look at. I briefly muse if our child will favor his looks or mine. A smile creeps over my lips as I breathe deeply; he takes hold of my hand. "Everything is fallin' into place."

"Good," I say. "I have something to tell you."

"Yeah?" he asks, searching my face.

"Yes," I answer, almost unable to control my excitement. Then, there is a knock on the doorjamb.

"Sorry to interrupt, Boss, Emm," says Abraham from behind me. Rick's eyes shift from me to him.

"What's up?" Rick asks.

"Just got word a delivery is scheduled to arrive soon," he informs us.

"Gareth?"

"Yes, Boss," he replies. "Didn't know you authorized it."

"I did," Rick says. "I didn't get around to telling anyone yet."

"That's okay. I was just making sure," says Abraham.

"I'll go when you pick it up," Rick offers and he nods his head. "And I needed you to do something for me between now and then."

"Anything," Abe answers.

"Go dig up the packages in the bottom paddock and bring them to me," Rick instructs

"Now?"

"Yes, as quick as you can," he says. "Don't tell anyone what you're doin'."

Abe leaves to undertake his task. I give Rick a questioning look.

"What're the packages?" I ask. Not once have I heard him speak about them.

"They're our back-up plan," he says with a small grin. "Now, you've got somethin' to tell me?"

…..

"Hmmmm," I moan as Rick slips inside of me again.

Slowly, deeply; he fills me. Our lips meet and he kisses me softly while continuing his steady thrusts. He brushes my hair from my face and rocks between my thighs. He's teasing me. This slow pace is like delicious torture. In and out he slides. His gorgeous cock glistening from my juices. His eyes remain fixed on mine. He lets out these low, guttural moans.

"Harder," I whisper, lifting my legs up higher. "You can give it to me harder."

"Shhh," he replies, kissing my mouth again, yet keeping his thrusts slow.

"Rick," I say, almost pleadingly. "You don't have to be gentle. I'm pregnant, not injured."

"I know," he says between heavy breaths.

"You want me to… _fuck._ You want me to roll over?" I ask, barely able to keep my eyes open when he strikes my spot.

"No," he proffers, hooking my leg over his arm and hitting my spot again. "I want this moment to last..."

He thrusts harder.

"I wanna be here with you longer…"

I clench my walls around him.

"I want to watch your face while you come."

We share another kiss, but it is messy this time. He drives his sex into mine again and again and again. Each thrust more delicious than the last. Still teasing me as he brings me closer to the edge. His eyes are locked on mine. Sweat rolls down his temple. I grip his damp curls.

"Oh, god, Rick," I whimper, as I bite my bottom lip. "Hurry up and make me come."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

All I wanted to do was stay in bed with my Michonne. Lie there all day and stroke her stomach where our child is growing.

 _I can hardly believe it._

 _It all feels so surreal._

We never planned for this; for any of it, but I am so overwhelmingly happy it's with her.

I am so happy that I can feel my chest swelling with complete and utter love.

I can't even put it into words. I, Rick Grimes, get another chance at a life with a woman I love; I, Rick Grimes, get to be a father again. I can't stop the tears from welling in my eyes now; just like I couldn't when she told me.

Now, more than ever, I need to make sure we get out of this place safely. I will do whatever I need to do to keep her safe. Getting everything ready for our departure has meant we haven't had much time to celebrate the news, but once we get to where we're going, I'm going to shower her with the love she deserves.

My Michonne; my _everything_.

 _How lucky am I?_

I didn't even want her to come with us to meet with Gareth because it's dangerous smuggling weapons. But she was right in saying it would save time. Plus, I don't want her arriving at the rendezvous point to meet the Saviors before I get there. So here we are, waiting while my men load the last of the military grade weapons into the false floor of the van.

"All set," says Ty, as he steps over to me.

"Grab the bag and bring it here," I say, before turning my attention to Gareth.

"What we spoke about," I start. "Did you get the information I needed?"

Gareth nods his head and then searches his jeans for something. After retrieving a small piece of paper with something handwritten on it, he hands it over to me. I take a quick look, and then put it in my own pocket just as Ty returns with the bag.

"Ty's gonna travel back with you," I say to Gareth.

"Okay," he replies, looking worried. "Why?"

"Not your concern," I say, before patting Ty on the shoulder and walking a short distance away, getting him to follow. Gareth shrugs and then returns to his vehicle.

"What do you want me to do with the packages?" Ty asks.

"Take them to Safe House Three," I say. "Leave them in the ceiling."

"You got it, Boss," he answers. "What do you want me to do with him?"

He gestures toward Gareth. I tilt my head to the side, offer him a crooked smile, and say, "I'm done with him. You know what to do: Take care of it."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I don't know if it's this pregnancy or nerves, but my stomach is turning. Maybe it's the excitement in knowing that we're finally making moves to leave this place. I remain outwardly calm, though there's a sea of tumultuous emotions swirling inside. Rick sits beside me in the van. The Saviors still haven't arrived yet. Knowing Rick's proclivities for being in charge, I muse that, if we weren't relying on the money for these weapons, he wouldn't have waited around. It's disrespectful having him wait. He knows it. He's killed men for less. However, we need the funds, so we wait.

"There," says Rick as he points to the vehicle approaching. "It's about fuckin' time. Wait here, darlin'. This won't take long."

I do as he says and he climbs out of the van. I watch as he places a silenced pistol to the small of his back, before closing the door. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, there's not a single place to set up our recording device; not that it matters at all, now. The other car comes to a halt, and Negan and Simon get out. They all greet one another, but I can't hear what they're saying. Simon is carrying two bags. He drops them at Rick's feet, before kneeling down to open them. I watch as Rick nods his head, before placing his hands on his hips. He then reaches one hand behind his back and grips the pistol.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"It's all there," says Simon as he picks up one of the stacks of clean, crisp notes.

"I've been doin' this for a little while now," I say. "And no matter how many times someone tries to assure me that all o' the money is there, I still don't take their word for it. Why don't you take those bags to the van so my associate can count it?"

Simon looks up at Negan, who nods down at him. I nod my head, place my hands to my hips, and then reach for my pistol.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I try to control my breathing. My heart feels as if it's going to burst from my chest. I hold the small handgun low as I watch Simon approach. I eye him in the side mirror. He drops one of the bags, and then slides the door of the van open. Before he can reach for the bag, I hear two pinging sounds and see Simon fall to the ground. Abraham, who was lying in wait, has shot him twice with a silenced weapon. Once in the chest, once in the head. Kill shots. Just as Rick told him to do. Abe lets out a whistle, and Rick draws his weapon on Negan.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"Woah, woah," says Negan, as he raises both hands. "Now hold on one goddamn minute. What in the ever-loving fuck are you doin', cowboy?"

"Get on your knees," I command. "Now."

"Simon!" he calls. "It's a setup."

"Simon can't hear you right now," I say. "Now kneel."

"Shit," he offers, doing as I say. "This is not how I expected this deal to go."

"Put your hands behind your head," I say. "Are any of your people waiting for you up the road?"

"I thought we had a good thing goin' here," he says. "Didn't think there was any need."

"Who else knows you're here?"

"Just Simon. Did ya…did ya kill him, Rick?"

"Shut the fuck up," I spit. "You talk too damn much. How long before your people know something is up and come looking?"

"No one's waiting…"

"Don't bullshit me," I say, stepping closer and pressing the gun to his head. "How long before they come to check on you?"

"All right, don't get your delicates in a twist, damn," he says. "Twenty minutes."

"How many?"

"Four," he admits. "Riding dirt bikes."

"What are they packing?"

"The rifles we bought from you."

"Which way?"

"Up the road we came down," he says.

I cock the hammer of my weapon, and then Negan speaks again.

"Hold on, Rick," he says, trying to stall. It doesn't matter how much time he buys, Abe is going to put down anyone who comes looking for him. "Don't you even want to know what I wanted all of those guns for? Don't you want to know my plans for the salvation of humanity? Don't you want to hear how my story was meant to go?"

"No," I say, as I pull the trigger and blow his brains out of the back of his head. "Fuck your story."


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I am so happy that so many of you derived pleasure from that final scene in the previous chappie. I hope you enjoy this one as well.

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

"How long do you think we have?" she asks when we're finally alone.

I sit down on the bed we've been sharing and remove my boots. I probably should have dumped them somewhere, considering I was just wearing them at a crime scene _while_ a crime was being committed. But, to be honest, I don't really care anymore about the mounting evidence against me. We're leaving this place; leaving all of that behind. And I don't care if I never return, so long as I am with Michonne. I don't care about this trail I leave behind because our lives here don't exist anymore as far as I'm concerned. I turn to face the love of my life, and then offer her an answer.

"Negan's people will get suspicious when he doesn't check in with them. They'll send someone to look for him and the others. They'll realize that their phones are dead and something ain't adding up. If their next-in-command knows about our meeting, they'll assume we had something to do with their disappearance. And they'd be right, so I'm fully expecting someone to reach out to us. I'm also expecting retaliation. That's why I gotta get you to the safe house before that happens."

"Without you?" she asks. "Rick, I thought we were going together?"

"We are," I say in earnest, hoping to ease her concern. "I just have a few loose ends to tie up, and I want you to be safe before I do that; I want you safe before the Savior's come."

"I don't like this," she laments. "I can handle myself, Rick…"

"I know that," I say. "But I'm not takin' any chances. When the bullets start flying, the Feds are gonna swoop in. I want you to be away from here when shit hits the fan. It'll be easier for me to do what I need to do if I know you're safe, Michonne. Please, I have it figured out. I'll come and get you at the safe house in twelve hours, then we can make our way to the border."

She sighs audibly and then flops down beside me on the bed and says, "Fine. Twelve hours. When does the clock start ticking?"

"Now," I say. "Just got word that a courier left our papers at the gatehouse. I'll grab them, make sure everything looks good, and then take you to the safe house. Is your go-bag ready?"

"Yes."

"You have everything you need?"

"I do."

"Well, we shouldn't waste anymore time," I say. "Go down to the car and wait for me. Take this phone with you. I'll bring your things out in a minute and then we'll leave."

"Okay," she says with a sad smile. "Don't take too long."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I can't explain how I am feeling.

This is it.

This.

Is.

It.

We're really doing this. I walk over to the car that's parked in front of the house. No one is around. I suspect they're all getting ready for what is to come. Rick has already sent the farmhands home. His people know that something is not right, but he hasn't told them what's going on yet. Only those close to him know what is coming.

I turn and look back up at the house. There's always this strange sense of sadness and relief that I struggle with when an assignment comes to an end. After all, I have been deeply immersed in this world for the better part of a year. I've grown used to the people here, despite them not knowing who I truly am. I will miss Ty's out-of-place kindness, and Abe's loyalty. I'll miss the way Tobin makes his coffee. I'll miss the easiness of conversation with Spencer. I'll miss the friendly smiles of the legitimate workers who tend to Daddy Gene's farm.

While all of this, save for my relationship with Rick, wasn't real for me, it was for them. Somehow, I feel bad for what's in store for them. They've built their lives as much around this business as Rick has. I know it doesn't help the situation, but I am feeling regretful about what we will leave behind. With that in mind, I lean against the car, and then reach into my purse to retrieve the burner phone Rick just gave me.

Their number hasn't changed in twenty years and I know it by heart. I key it in to the mobile and then make the call. It rings a few times before someone on the other end of the line greets me: It's her.

"Hello?"

The words catch in my throat, rendering me speechless a moment.

"Hello?" she repeats. "Is anyone there?"

"H-hi," I manage. "It's me…"

"Michonne?"

"Yes, Mama," I say, before taking a deep breath. "It's been a while."

"Oh my lord," she offers. "Michonne, honey. I haven't heard from you in so long."

"I know, Mama," I say, feeling the tears well in my eyes. "It's work stuff. You know how it is. I really shouldn't be calling, since it's against protocol and all, but I needed to hear your voice."

"Oh, baby," she says. "I know I can't ask questions about it, but are you okay?"

I grow silent. It makes her uneasy.

"Michonne?"

"Sorry," I recover. "I'm okay. I'm doing just fine. I, ah, I just wanted to let you know everything is fine, and that I miss you and Daddy."

"We miss you, too, honey," she says sweetly. "Can you tell us how much longer you'll be on assignment?"

"Sorry, Mama," I say, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I can't say; I'm not even meant to be calling you."

"I know," she replies. "But I'm glad you did."

"Mama, I don't know when you'll hear from me again," I manage to say. "I just want you to know that I'm okay, and I love you and Daddy."

"Michonne, you're scaring me."

"Ma, please don't be scared," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, even though this is harder than I imagined it would be. "You know how my job is."

"I know," she laments. "But you're all right?"

"Yes, ma'am," I reply. "I've honestly never been better."

"That's good to hear, baby," she says, and I can hear the relief in her voice.

"I just need you to know that I have to disappear for a little while, and I'm not sure when I'll be able to contact you again," I say vaguely.

"I understand how demanding your work is," she says. "I'm glad you bent the rules so I could talk to you."

"Me, too, Mama," I say in earnest. "If anyone at all asks if you've heard from me, please tell them you haven't."

"Why would they ask?"

"Please, Mama," I say. "I'm bending the rules, so if someone asks, you deny it. If they chek your phone records and mention this call, say it was someone calling to sell insurance. No one can know I called you. It's too dangerous for all of us."

"Michonne, you really are scaring me."

"Don't be scared, Ma," I say, as a tear rolls down my face. "I'm safe and everything is going to be okay."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

She's quiet as we drive to the outskirts of town to the safe house. To any passers-by who may find themselves off the beaten track, it's little more than a cabin beside the river. If they look closely, they'll notice the closed-circuit cameras perched up high in the trees, and motion-detection sensors around the grounds. But people rarely venture out here. A simple "Private Property" sign has kept most people out, except for the occasional group of teens whom the cameras show via a live feed to monitors and devices I only trust Abe and Ty with.

We pull up out front, and I do a quick perimeter check. There are no signs that anyone has been here lately. The door hasn't been opened in some time; the whole place looks abandoned. I key in the security code, and the door unlocks. I check inside, to be certain, and then go back to the car to help Michonne with our belongings. Once inside, I lock the door behind us, and give her a quick tour. I show her the gun safe, the monitors for the cameras, and the panic room in the hidden basement.

"The pantry is fully stocked," I say. "Eat whatever you like."

I step forward and press a kiss to her forehead while rubbing her upper arms.

"I won't be long," I say. "Keep that phone close; I'll call when I'm on my way."

With that, I turn to leave her. Suddenly, I feel her hand on my arm. I look behind at her, and she stares up at me with pleading eyes.

"Don't go yet," she whispers, while running her fingers over my shoulders and down my back. It sends tingles over my tired flesh.

She slips her hand into mine.

"Michonne," I say softly. "I have to go."

She leads me by the hand towards the small kitchen table. I don't even resist. She undoes her zipper and steps out of her pants, before sitting on the table. She kicks the chair back and then parts her legs. I eye the wet patch on her panties and my cock jumps.

"Sit," she says, and I fall into the chair without further encouragement; my mouth begins to water. She opens her legs wider, and braces herself with her hands to the tabletop.

I sit on the edge of the seat, and then place my coarse hands to her smooth hips. I pull her forward roughly, so that she is closer to me. I run my hand over her damp underwear and smile up at her. I can smell her enticing scent. I reach down and free my stiffening cock. I stroke it a few times before I draw her panties to the side. I thumb her clit before I dip my head and lick her pussy. I suck her bud into my mouth and slip two fingers inside of her at the same time. Her head rolls backwards and she lets out a moan.

"Fuck, Rick," she breathes, while grabbing hold of my shoulders.

I slide my fingers in and out and continue to suck her clit. We don't have much time, so I'm going to have to make it quick. I find her spot with the pads of my fingers and apply the right amount of pressure to make her come undone. Her hips buck and she curses some more. I reach my free hand down to my dick and begin to rub it. I withdraw my soaked fingers and use her juices to coat my shaft, and then my tip. I use the moment to trail my tongue over the length of her slit before slipping my fingers in between her swollen lips again.

I stroke my cock harder and faster, and moan into her pussy. I feel her walls begin to tighten as I relentlessly rub her spot and suck her stiff little clit. She's close; so am I. I feel her release coming, so I hasten my attentions. She grabs hold of my hair and lifts her ass from the tabletop.

"Shit," she says as I bring her close and closer to her climax.

" _Oh, god._ "

I stop my sucking as she comes all over my fingers and lies back on the table; I withdraw them, and lick them clean. Before her orgasm passes, I stand up, grab her by the ankles, and drag her closer to me. I rip her panties from her body before I take my cock and ram it into her gushing, pulsing little pussy. Her falls clench around me as I fuck her hard. Her juices drench me and she comes again. My hips thrust faster as I lift her ass from off the table.

"Fuck," I say. " _Ahhhh, fuck."_

Her pussy tightens around my rock hard dick as I find my release. I lean down, slide my arms up underneath her, and then draw her up into a sitting position. We share a passionate kiss as the last drops of my hot seed spill inside of her. We hold one another until our bodies stop trembling and our breathing slows. I stroke her face gently, kiss her forehead, and then remove myself from between her sweet center.

"Fuck, I love you," I say, as I give her lips a quick peck. "But I really gotta go now."

…..

The mood inside my father' study is somber. The gravity of what we've done is tugging at our shoulders. I offer Abe a drink, and then pour my own. The taste mingles on my lips with the taste of Michonne. I think of her and remember why I am doing this. Abe speaks and draws me from my contemplation.

"There's trouble comin'," he says as he sips from his glass of bourbon. "Not gonna take 'em too long to figure out we fucked 'em over. What's the plan, Boss?"

"I'm leavin', Abe," I offer.

"I see," he replies. "For good, or just a little vacay?"

"For good," I tell him.

"Just like your daddy."

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Within the next few hours," I proffer. "But I want you to know a few things, and I want you to hear them from me, not from some Fed."

"What is it?"

"Not too long ago, the FBI arrested me."

His eyes go wide as he leans forward in his chair and says, "Are you shittin' me, Boss?"

"I ain't shittin' you," I say. "They're bringin' me up on RICO charges."

"Well fuck me," he says while shaking his head. "Twenty to life, Boss, per count; it's no wonder you're leavin'."

"Yeah," I reply. "I made a deal with the State's Attorney. I agreed to give 'em Negan to buy some time on the outside."

"You didn't want your sentence reduced?"

"Nah, I just wanted time," I explain. "So that I could kill the man who killed my family. And I did that. But I changed my mind; I don't wanna rot in some federal prison so they can make an example out of me. I wanna be free."

"I hear ya," he says, downing the whiskey, and holding his glass out for more. I oblige, and fill my own glass again. "You got yourself a plan?"

"Yes, sir, I do," I tell him. "Emm is waitin' for me at Safe House Two with our new papers and ID. Once everything here is sorted, I'm getting her and we're headin' for the border. Ty's already taken the packages to Safe House Three for me; he took care of Gareth for me, too."

"What's left to do here, Boss? You let me know what you need, and I'll get it done."

"The guns in the van, they're yours to sell and keep the profits. Get yourself out of here, or start your own Crew. It's up to you. There's ten thousand in this bag," I say as I lift a small, black backpack, place it on the, and slide it over to him. "It's yours. You've been a loyal soldier, Abe. I want you to come out on top of this. Anything else you want here, you can keep. Once the Feds figure out what happened with Negan, they'll tear through this place. You should put some distance in between you and King County. Go see that girlfriend of yours; take a trip up north. They'll be pissed that I left. They'll haul your big red ass in to have someone to punish. Please, take what I've given you and go."

We sit in brief silence, and then Abe nods his head.

"You know I'd follow you to the ends of the earth, Boss," he says, before standing up and holding out his hand. I stand and then grasp it, giving it a firm shake.

"I know," I offer while nodding my head. "But this is somethin' I have to do, just me and my woman."

"If you ever need me," he says while taking the cigar from behind his ear. "You holler and I'll be there quick and in a hurry."

"Thank you for everything," I say sincerely.

"No need to thank me," says Abe. "My ass had way too much fun fuckin' shit up with you, and I'd do it all again. Good luck, Boss. Send me a postcard someday."

I finish my drink and then say, "Yeah, I just might."

With that, I walk around the other side of the desk and pat Abe on the shoulder, before looking around the room. My eyes fall on the blank space where the photo of Jeff and I used to hang. I let out an audible sigh and then make my way towards the door.

"Hey, Boss," says Abe as we exit the room and walk down the hallway.

"Yeah?"

"Emm's a good woman. You look after her."

I nod my head, agreeing with his statement, before saying, "I will."

…..

I squint into the twilight of the evening as I speed alone the old backroad en route to Michonne. Tomorrow, when my former employees try to show up for work, the place will most likely be crawling with Feds. No one will get in or out of the grounds, that includes any Saviors looking for pay back.

The crooked cops I pay off to inform me of any roadblocks that might stop my shipments are on alert. They'll let Ty know if there's anything out on the roads that might impede our escape; he'll then tell me. Michonne and I will leave under the cover of night, which has fallen fast.

I slow my pace in anticipation of turning off the road and heading to the safe house. Out of habit, I peer into the rear view mirror and then I see it: There's a car behind me. Their headlights aren't bright, and they're staying just far enough back to be inconspicuous but not to lose sight of me.

I reach for the burner phone in my top pocket and call the phone Michonne has.

"Hello?"

"Turn off the lights, get a gun, and go down to the basement," I tell her.

"Rick? What happened?"

"Go down there, now!"

"Rick? Where are you?"

"I won't be long, baby," I say. "I'm on the road headin' back to you. Please just get a gun and lock yourself in the basement."

"Not until you tell me what's going on…"

"Michonne, do it now," I say, almost frantically. "I think I'm bein' followed."


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: Picking up from the last scene in the previous chappie. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing.

* * *

 _Rick's POV_

I lift my foot from off of the gas and my car beings to slow. The car behind me gets closer, so I pull onto the side of the road and wait. I reach over to the empty passenger seat and pick up my pistol. I hold it on my lap. The other car passes me by, but I continue to wait. Then, when it goes a little farther along, I see the red of the taillights off in the distance. I turn off my headlights and then cock the hammer of my gun.

The car comes to stop right in front of me; their lights are almost blinding. I raise my hand to shield my eyes, readying myself for what might happen next. I roll down the window.

"Rick Grimes," a voice calls out. "Show me your hands and then step out of the vehicle."

I don't respond, so they speak again.

"Grimes, put your hands out the window and step out of the vehicle."

"Can't do that," I reply. "I don't know who you are."

"FBI," the voice says.

"Bullshit!"

"Show me your hands and get out of the car!"

Just as I am about to shift into reverse, I see the driver of the other car get out and aim their gun at me while holding up their badge. I could try to outrun them, but I that would make things worse. They have no idea what our plans are; how could they? I still have a deal with the Feds.

 _Fuck!_

I need to cooperate. I need to see what they want. I uncock the hammer, and place my weapon under the car seat before placing my hands out the window and yelling, "Okay. I'm gettin' outta the car now."

…..

"Where were you going?" asks the Agent sitting before me in the interview room at the KCSD.

I've been in this room so many times, but on the other side of the law. One of the lights overhead is flickering and the room is hot. The chair I'm sitting on is wobbly. The handcuffs on my wrists are a little too tight. Typical FBI; make me feel uncomfortable to put me off my game so I'll screw up and make their jobs easier. I know the tricks. I went to that seminar once.

"For a drive," I reply.

"To get away from the Saviors who opened fire on your house?"

"I didn't know they shot my place up," I answer truthfully. My face remains blank and emotionless. "Glad I wasn't at home, then."

"Surprisingly no one was injured, which leads me to believe you must have had some kind of inkling that the attack was coming," says the Agent.

"I'm not some kind of mind reader," I say, leaning back in the rickety chair. "If I was, I'd have made you for a Fed a long time ago instead of thinkin' you were just some pizza delivery guy."

"Where's Agent Bourdain," he asks, ignoring my remark.

"I don't know," I answer. "Like I said, I was takin' a drive."

"You've been cooperating with us, Grimes," he says. "What changed?"

"Nothing's changed," I say. "I was out for a drive and these pricks came by to shoot at my house, to put my staff in danger, and y'all have got me locked up here. Why isn't anyone out there rounding their asses up?"

"You're not a victim in all of this, Grimes," he replies. "The only reason you've still got a house and people who work for you is because you cut a deal with the Department of Justice. And if you haven't held up your end of the bargain, it's over for you. You need to start answering my questions. Why were the Saviors trying to kill you, and what happened to Agent Bourdain?"

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

My eyes hurt. I have been staring at this screen for the better part of an hour. Rick is nowhere in sight. He has not called back. I am worried now. My mind is racing with all of the worst-case scenarios, so I try to calm down and be rational. If he was being followed, maybe he tried to lose the tail. There's no way he would risk bringing them here.

Damn it, Rick!

He should have brought them here. We could have fought them off together. If it was law enforcement, they'd have no idea that Rick killed Negan. If it was Glenn, he'd have no need to come for Rick, unless something happened at the Farm.

Shit!

Something must have happened at the Farm. The Saviors must have tried to hit Rick. That means Glenn would have to break his cover. Rick's never going to give me up. Glenn's going to think he did something to me. By keeping quiet, it'll make things worse. If they think he killed a Federal Agent, they're not going to go easy on him.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"What I wanna know is how you knew where to find me," I say. "Out on my leisurely drive. Did you have me under surveillance?"

"Don't worry about how I knew," he replies.

"Nah, tell me," I say. "Answer my question, and then I might talk and stop wasting your time. Go on, tell me. You've probably got another, what, thirty minutes or so before your boss gets here. Humor me. How'd you know where to find me?"

He sighs, and then folds his arms over his chest, before leaning back in his chair.

"I was casing your residence," he offers.

"Why?"

"When I spoke to my colleague, something was off," he replies. "I'm trained to notice the small differences. And I did. She did well to try to hide it from me, but I knew something wasn't right. Maybe you threatened her. Maybe you did something to coerce her. Either way, I know her. And I know something was off. Her phone hasn't been switched on and she hasn't checked in with me. Something's going on, here. That's why I waited and followed you. Now tell me, what did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything to her," I reply. "Like I said before, I went for a drive. I don't know what people get up to when I'm gone…"

Abruptly, he stands up. His chair flies backwards and scrapes against the cold concrete floor.

"We're done here," he says, and then walks toward the exit.

"There're people out here trying to kill me," I offer. "Why don't you go and ask them what happened to Agent Bourdain instead of wasting time with me."

…..

When the door swings open, I lift my gaze to see Supervisory Special Agent Peletier. She looks stern and annoyed. She takes a seat across from me and gets right to it.

"We had a deal, Grimes," she says. "Why'd you go and fuck it all up?"

"Agent Peletier," I say. "I don't know what everyone thinks I did, but…"

"Save it," she says. "The people you were colluding with tried to kill you. A Federal Agent is missing, and you're sitting here like nothing is going on. Talk, Grimes. Give me some kind of explanation as to what the hell is going on right now, because it seems to me that you screwed the Saviors over and were running. My Agent must've caught on to your plan, and then you got rid of her. How's my aim?"

"Agent Peletier, your aim is off the mark," I offer. "I don't know where Agent Bourdain is. I don't know what those people wanted when they shot the shit out of my house. I'm as confused as you are."

"This deal is off," she says as she stands. "The State's Attorney is just waiting for my call. You'll be charged and processed. And don't think for a second that this worked out just how it would've had you _not_ made a deal with the DOJ. If you've done anything to Bourdain; if she turns up in a shallow grave; if she doesn't turn up at all, you _will_ be charged with the murder of a Federal Agent. You can forget about those RICO charges putting you away for life because the State of Georgia will do one better and put you down like an animal."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

My heart jumps when the burner phone rings.

"Rick?" I answer.

"Emm? It's me, Abe," says the voice at the other end of the line.

"Abe, what's going on? Where's Rick?"

"His lawyer called me and told me to contact you," he explains. "The Boss got arrested."

"What? How?"

"After we cleared out of the Farm, the Saviors shot the place up."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Nah, we all got out before they came," he says. "I think the cops pieced it all together. They let the gun running go for a long time, but they ain't gonna ignore shootin' out in the open like that. They're probably trying to make an example out of the Boss. But don't you worry, Emm. He'll make bail."

Abraham's naivety about the whole situation would be charming in another circumstance. He doesn't know the truth. He doesn't know Rick was working with the DOJ. He doesn't know that I'm a Fed. He just trusts that his employer, and friend, will be all right. That this is a setback and Rick will be fine. He will make bail and we will run. But I know that isn't the case. His accounts will already have been frozen, seized by the State. Charges are probably filed, with his original arrest reinstated and his immunity revoked. If they find out that Negan is dead, it's all over for him. It's all over for us.

"Thanks, Abe," I offer, feeling the lump form in my throat. "What does he want me to do?"

"He wants me to come get you and take you across the border."

A tear falls from my eye and rolls down my cheek.

"He wants me to leave him?"

"To be safe," says Abe. "When he makes bail, he'll follow you. I'll bring him to you myself, Emm. I promise."

"I, I don't want to leave him," I say shakily.

"You can't go home, Emm," says Abe. "It's a crime scene and it ain't safe. Please, the Boss just wants you to be safe. Let me take you to safety."

"Okay," I agree.

I don't mean it. I'm not going to abandon him.

I can't abandon him.

I won't.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: Phenomenal feedback, my Dear Readers. Thank you all so much. Please accept this offering.

* * *

"Where's your bag, Emm?" asks Abe as I climb into the car with him.

"Inside," I say. "Take me to town."

"The Boss said I had to get you to the crossing point at the border, and I have to do it right now," he says. I feel the throbbing in my temple begin.

"Abraham," I say. "I'm not leaving without him. Now take me to town."

"Emm, I can't…" he starts to protest until he hears the cocking of the gun. His eyes fall to wear I am holding the pistol, low and aimed at him.

I stare into his eyes and give him a serious look before raising one eyebrow.

"I like you Abe," I say coolly. "Don't make me have to ask you again."

…..

The ride to town is quiet. Abe has already forgiven me for pulling a gun on him. He is actually impressed with my actions, and has told me so. We come to the city limits sign, and I ask him to take me to my apartment. I figure it's where I need to be to make my cover story for this whole new situation stick. Glenn may have already checked there for me, but if he is the one who busted Rick, it'll be because he was casing the Farm; he would then have to wait at the station until SSA Peletier arrives. Glenn would not have had time to check the apartment for me.

My thoughts turn to Rick. His arrest will have to be formalised. He may need to appear before a judge. He is a flight risk and they will not grant him bail. If I show up at the station, our plans to flee may be uncovered. I could pretend that everything is normal. That I returned to the apartment because I felt ill. That I didn't know anything about the shooting. Do they know for certain that Negan is dead? Or are they only holding Rick because of the shooting? All of these thoughts rush about in my mind.

It's hard to focus on one thing, but I need to calm down. I need to come up with something before I make it known that I'm safe. Rick is not going to like it, but I will not have them think he killed me; I won't sit back and let them sentence him to die. I just have to hope they believe the story that I feed to them.

…..

I send Abe away, and then step inside of the apartment. The FBI issued laptop and phone are sitting in the place where I left them. I pick up the phone and switch it on. I see all of the messages from Glenn. I take a deep breath and call him back.

"Glenn, hey, what's…"

"Where are you, Michonne?" he interjects, sounding frantic.

"I'm at the apartment," I say. "Is everything okay? I've got a bunch of voicemails from you that I haven't checked yet."

"Michonne, are you safe?"

"Yes," I answer. "I'm fine. What's going on?"

"We have Grimes in custody," he says.

"What? Why, what happened?"

"I need to talk to you in person," he says. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

I end the call and let out a loud sigh. I think he is buying it, but we'll see. I go to the cupboard, take out a plate and cup, and then run them under the sink before setting them aside. I retrieve a knife and fork from the drawer, and place them on the dish rack next to the crockery. Next, I go to the bathroom and wash my face and arms. I drop the used towel in the clothes hamper before I go to the bedroom and make the bed look like it has been slept in. I then return to the kitchen and take the garbage out, before lining the bin with a bag. I have to make it appear that I have spent the night at the apartment. Glenn is smart. If he notices that anything is amiss, he will call me on it. I put the coffee pot on, then take a seat on the sofa and wait.

He knocks like law enforcement. I shake my head, and then stand up. Peering through the peephole, I see that Glenn is there by himself. I was worried that SSA Peletier would have come with him, but I'm sure she has bigger fish to fry. She'll no doubt be trying to fast track Rick's indictment. I am relying on the slow nature of things around these parts to impede her. Surely, my reappearance means she will not go through with charging him just yet; that is, of course, if they haven't discovered that Negan is dead.

"What on earth is going on?" I ask, pretending to be confused.

Glenn walks toward the sofa, then turns to face me.

"Why was your phone switched off?"

"I wasn't feeling well," I lie. "I came back here to take a pill and sleep it off. The phone died. I only just turned it back on. What's going on? Grimes has been arrested? Why?"

"The Saviors hit his farm."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"No," he replies. "No one was there."

"So, why'd they bring him in?"

" _We_ brought him in because we suspect the deal's gone bad with the Saviors," says Glenn. "Plus no one knew where you were."

"I'm here now," I say. "So, what? The assignment is finished?"

"We don't know if there's any assignment left, Michonne," he says with a sigh. "The attack could only mean one thing: The deal Grimes has with the Saviors is off. If he can't give us Negan, he's of no use to us, you know that."

"Honestly, I don't know why they'd just up and attack him," I lie. "The deal was pushed back, but it's definitely still going ahead."

"That's not what he is saying."

"What is he saying?"

"I can't tell you that," he says as I raise my eyebrows.

"Oh, okay," I offer, genuinely offended. "So I'm on the outs all of a sudden? After I've been the one on the ground, putting my ass on the line living with these dangerous men? Now I'm out of the loop? Because I was sick and took a sleeping pill? Because I didn't turn my phone on? Come on, Glenn. You know me. Why would I go and fuck this all up?"

He goes silent a moment, as if he is trying to find the words; as if he is trying to figure out how to phrase his next statement. He looks me in the eye, and then says, "You've got a history of getting too – _involved_ with targets."

I narrow my eyes.

"Say what you really mean, Glenn."

"Are you involved with Grimes?"

"No," I lie. "And since when did this turn into an interrogation?"

"I have to ask."

"No, you don't."

"Michonne— "

"I can't believe this right now," I say, feeling genuinely exhausted by the whole situation. "You say Grimes was attacked, and yet, I'm the one who's being questioned. This is bullshit. Where's Peletier? Did she put you up to this?"

"She's at the KCSD questioning Grimes," he explains.

"Well, let's go, then," I say. "Let's get this sorted out before the entire operation is ruined."

With that I walk to the door; Glenn follows behind me.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I sit waiting for someone to return and tell me that's it for me. They think I've killed Michonne. They think the deal with the Saviors is done. But the fact that I am still here waiting means they have no solid evidence to support their little theories. I don't know how much time as passed, but I'm tired. If they're going to charge me, they had better do it soon. I lift my eyes when the door swings open. I keep my features calm, even when I see Michonne standing next to Peletier and the one known as Rhee.

He steps over and undoes the cuffs. I stare at him and then rub my wrists before looking at Michonne, and then their superior. I do well to swallow the lump that has risen in my throat. I told her to leave me, and here she is, standing before me. She has a plan, it seems; I wait for them to explain what's going on.

"It's good to see you, Bourdain," I say. There's a flash of an apologetic look in her eyes, before she lifts her chin.

"I'm away from the Farm for a little while and it gets shot up?" she asks. "Any idea what happened?"

"No, ma'am," I say. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Have you heard from the target?" she asks.

"Negan?"

"Yes," says Michonne.

"No, but there was no change to our agreed meeting time," I answer.

"You've dodged a bullet this time, Grimes," Agent Peletier says. "You're lucky my Agent was just under the weather."

"Are you okay?" I ask Michonne instinctively; she gives me a small smile.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replies. "I'm just sorry that, in my absence, things have gone to shit."

"Well, we're back on track now," says Peletier. "So here's what will happen: Grimes, you contact the Saviors and push the meeting time forward. They'll do it, because they want to kill you…"

"So you're dangling me like a worm on a hook?" I ask; I see the worry in Michonne's eyes.

"Yes," Peletier replies bluntly. "We will have the rendezvous point surrounded. If they do kill you, we'll have them on that as well. Someone will take a plea and talk. Win-win situation."

I clench my jaw; it's nice to see my life is of no value to the Feds or the DOJ. I can see Michonne is growing more and more distressed, so I speak.

"That's fine by me," I offer. "But what about Agent Bourdain? You want to put her in the line of fire?"

"Agent Bourdain won't be with you," says Peletier. "Her time on this case is done; she'll be on the next flight out of Georgia before you even collect your shit from the reception desk here at the Station. You're wearing the wire; you're closing the deal. That's it. My Agent has no further work to do here; Agent Rhee will be with you until we have the evidence we need to take Negan down. So, arrange the meeting, and do what you said you'd do."

I glance at Michonne, and then back at her boss. I stand up, and then walk toward my secret lover; I extend my hand, and then say, "It's been a pleasure working with you, Agent."

She takes hold of it and shakes gently; I've missed her touch. I hope I get to touch her again.

…..

Agent Rhee and I sit in what used to be Michonne's apartment and stare at one another. He thinks the deal is going ahead in the morning. It isn't because I haven't even spoken to the Saviors. I'm hoping Michonne is far away from here before I let the State's Attorney and the Feds know that I did shit all over the deal. As long as she is safe, and not caught up in this, I'll be okay. I'm really gonna miss her. I sigh and push the aching deep down inside of me. We tried. We really did. Hopefully, she'll have a life after this is all said and done; our child will have a life. I'm drawn from my somber reverie by a question from Rhee.

"Are you hungry, Grimes?" he asks.

"Kind of," I say. "Pizza would be good."

He snorts a little, and then agrees.

"Any toppings in particular?" he asks.

"I think you know my preferences by now," I reply; he laughs. He doesn't seem like such an asshole. I can see why Michonne likes him. He's just doing his job, I surmise. I may as well have my last night of freedom be in good company.

He picks up the phone and dials the number he must have memorized by now. They'll probably be surprised to see him when they deliver it. I wonder how he and Michonne can do this. To live as someone else for so long; to build relationships with people in communities. Maybe it's easier if they don't. If they remain superficial in every way. It makes me think of how truly blessed I have been for a time, to get to know her in so many ways on so many levels. It was beautiful while it lasted.

"Wanna watch some TV?" I ask, and Rhee nods his head. We settle in and watch the local news; they are covering what happened at my home, but don't give details. The Feds would've asked them to supress that information, at least until the deal is done. This whole thing is probably gonna put King County on the map.

The weather report is on by the time the pizza arrives. Rhee peers out of the peephole, and recognizes the delivery boy. He lets him inside and then fishes through his pocket for some cash, when all of a sudden, there is a masked man with a gun yelling at us to get to the floor. Rhee reaches for his sidearm; the mask intruder aims the pistol at him.

"Don't think about it, asshole," he says, as another masked gate crasher steps inside. "Get down on the floor."

Rhee raises his hands and does as he is told. The masked man takes his gun from him, and then proceeds to bind his wrists with plastic ties. He then does the same to the delivery boy.

"We're not here for you," he offers, as he steps over to me. "We just want this prick, and we'll be on our way."

"Who are you?" Rhee asks.

"We're Negan," he says, before binding my wrists and dragging me to my feet. He shoves me over to his accomplice, who leads me outside. I glance back and see him knock Agent Rhee out, before exiting the apartment and closing the door behind him.

I am led to a van, and placed inside. We drive in silence until we are outside of town. Then, they remove their masks and gloves and then speak.

"Sorry 'bout roughin' you up, Boss," says Abraham. "Had to make it look real."

I knew it was them. He tried to change his voice, but I knew it was him. Michonne cuts the ties from my wrists and then draws me into an embrace. We share a passionate kiss. I can feel her body shaking. I hold her closer and breathe in her scent.

"I wasn't going to leave you," she whispers close to my ear. "I'd never leave you."

"I know," I reply, as I close my eyes tightly and relish in the feeling of having her in my arms once more. "I know."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

The rapid pounding in my heart has subsided as Rick and I ride in the back of the van. Abraham is taking us to the border. Our bags are packed and everything is in place. I am still nervous, but I know we have a good plan of action, now. We'll make it.

Rick turns my bandaged hand over in his palm.

"What happened?" he asks.

"I needed some of my own blood to stage a scene," I explain. "We left the car the Bureau hired for me to leave in out on the highway. Made it look like a struggle happened. Smeared some of my blood on the inside. By the time they find it, and the Agent who was watching over you, we'll be long gone. They'll blame the Saviors, and we'll be free."

"And you came up with this plan?" he asks, looking at me with an impressed expression on his handsome face.

"I did," I reply. "Everything's in order, Rick. We're going to make it."

He smiles warmly at me, before lifting my hand to his lips and placing a kiss to it.

"Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you for coming back for me."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

It's been almost thirty hours since we left Georgia. The blinds are drawn in the safe house on the outskirts of Reynosa, Mexico. Michonne is sleeping soundly on the bed. She tried to stay awake while I kept watch, a habit I've picked up as a result of living this life, but I insisted that she rest. While we've made it across the border, and our falsified documents held up to scrutiny, we still have a ways to go. By now, law enforcement will be looking for us, and we are still holed up in a border town. My contacts have arranged for us to leave the safe house under the cover of night. I won't rest properly until we have safely crossed into Guatemala. The packages that Ty delivered for me will come in handy for us to pay our way; my contacts have confirmed where my father is hiding. By the end of the week, I will be standing in front Daddy Gene. By the end of the week, I will have answers.


	34. Chapter 34

A/N: Hello, everyone. Wow! The response to the last chapter was awesome. Thanks to all of my Dear Readers. You've been nothing short of amazing this whole time. I truly appreciate you all. After the intensity of the past few instalments, I thought this chappie should offer some well-needed rest for our favourite fugitives. Enjoy!

* * *

 _Michonne's POV_

I check the time and see that it is mid-morning. I reach over to the empty space next to me on the bed. I don't think Rick has been in here at all. I sigh, and then roll out of bed. I go to the bathroom, and then set about seeing if I can convince him to rest a while. To remind him that I am capable of taking over watch while he sleeps.

After freshening up, I walk out into the common area of the safe house. It looks a lot like the other one back in Georgia. It is tidy and indistinct; I never thought I would be pleased to see so much beige. There are live-feed monitors set up on the largest wall. A gun safe near another. A small kitchenette off to the right. I find my love standing near the large wall. His eyes are focused on the monitors.

"Have you slept?" I ask, taking in his appearance; he hasn't changed his attire. I know he has been up all night. I don't blame him, for being careful. Nevertheless, we won't get very far if he isn't well-rested.

"Nah," he replies, running his fingers through his hair. He turns to look at me, and then glances back at the monitors. "Couldn't."

"You should sleep," I offer as I step closer to him. "Even if it's just for an hour. It's better than nothing."

I stand behind him, and wrap my arms about his waist. I kiss the back of his neck while running my hands up over his chest.

"Come to bed," I say close to his ear.

"I need to keep watch," he offers, not stopping my ministrations.

I find the top of his shirt and slowly begin to unbutton it. I trail my hand all over his abdomen. He lets out a moan as I strip his shirt from his body. It falls in a heap on the floor.

"You need to rest," I murmur. "Come with me to bed."

I press my lips to his back and shoulders, peppering soft kisses all along his warm skin. I trail my hand downward until I find his belt buckle. I begin to undo it, followed by his zipper; I reach my hand inside.

"Don't seem like I'm gonna get much rest if I go with you," he says with a small chuckle.

My hand finds his erection, large and rigid.

"You can rest after," I tease while rubbing him.

"I should keep watch," he offers in way of a half-hearted protest.

I stroke him and then kiss his neck, before whispering, "I've missed you."

His body is weary, but my kisses soon awaken it. I take his cock from out of his jeans and run my hand up and down his shaft. He's already set hard.

"Hmmm," he moans. "I've missed you, too."

He places his hand over mine and brings it to his lips as he turns to face me. His eyes bore into mine as he draws his jeans down and steps out of them. I give him a smile, and then remove my clothing. We share a slow but passionate kiss before I take hold of his hand and lead him to the bedroom.

"Lay down," I say. "Let me take care of you, and then you can rest."

He does as I request, and lies flat on his back. My eyes roam all over him. He is still as perfect as the day I first saw him. I climb onto the bed, and sprawl out next to him. I wrap my leg over his hips. We share another kiss.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

 _Fuck._ I am tired, but I want her so badly. It doesn't matter how many times I've had her, I still need more. She drapes her leg over mine and then kisses me. I love how she tastes. Her lips are as soft as the first time I felt them; plump and beautiful and fitting perfectly with mine.

My hand finds her ass. I caress it; squeeze it. I hold it as she shifts from beside me and straddles my lap. I grip her with both hands as she smiles down at me. She is so beautiful. I never get tired of looking at her; I never tire of touching her. She leans down and our lips come together once more. I could kiss her forever. When she draws away, I miss the feeling straightaway.

Soon, another sensation takes over as she grips my dick and brings it to her pussy lips. She kneels slightly, and then lowers herself onto my length. My eyes roll shut as she leans back, and places both hands to my thighs for support. She then rolls her hips while sliding up and down my cock.

 **…..**

 _Michonne's POV_

One of his hands cups my breast while the other is grasping my ass. I grind on top of Rick, clenching my walls around him, stirring my hips in a clockwise motion. I then slide up and down his hard cock. He moans and cusses when I clench him once more. My pussy is dripping wet; I am drenching him as I ride him.

He reaches and takes hold of my hands, intertwining our fingers while he stares up at me. Our breathing is in time. Our moans fade into one another, so much so that I can't tell which whimpers are mine and which are his. I grind against him harder and faster.

"Oh, god," I say as he thrusts upwards, meeting my own eagerness. I feel the heat swirling in my core. I grip his hands tighter and continue to rock on top of him.

Without warning, he grips my hips and then rolls me over to my back. His cock stays firmly wedged between my swollen lips. In a matter of seconds, he is between my thighs and driving himself into me.

He brings his mouth to my clavicle. He kisses, sucks, and bites me there as he fucks me into the mattress. He was tired before, but as he lifts my legs over his shoulders and plunges his big, hard cock into me, it's as if all of his lethargy is gone, replaced by an animalistic need.

" _Oh, fuck, Rick_ ," I cry out as he hits my spot.

He lets my weak legs fall from his shoulders. I wrap them around his waist while digging my nails into his back. He leans down and we share a messy kiss while moaning into each other's mouths. He breaks the kiss, and then bites down on my shoulder while he thrusts harder.

" _Oh, fuck,_ " I say in response.

I'm close. He strikes at my spot again and again. The familiar sensation swirls in my stomach. _Fuck_. I am so fucking close. I can feel my pussy creaming all over his unbelievably hard dick; I can hear it gushing. He hooks one of my legs over his arm, and fucks me harder and harder.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes, while he thrusts faster. "Come for me, baby."

After pumping into me a few more times, I reach my orgasm. I close my eyes and call out his name. My walls tighten and pulse around him, milking his cock as he comes inside of me. His body collapses on top of mine as we kiss once more. Breathlessly, we press our foreheads together. He removes himself from between my swollen lips, and falls onto the bed next to me.

I rest my head on his sweat-drenched chest, and drape my arm over him. He strokes his fingers up and down my arm. We lie this way for a moment, catching our breath and relishing in the feeling of utter contentment. After a while, I lift my head and look down at him. He smiles up at me, and we share a soft, chaste kiss.

"You should sleep now," I whisper, while brushing his damp curls from his beautiful face. "I'll watch the monitors."

"Okay," he says with a crooked, grateful smile. "Wake me if you see anything."

I peck his lips with mine one more time, and then say, "I will."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I needed that. I stretch out in the bed and let out a loud yawn. When I check my wristwatch, I notice I've slept longer than I meant to. Almost three hours have passed.

"Shit," I say, as I drag myself from the bed, and walk to the bathroom.

I take a piss, and then splash my face with cool water. After towelling myself dry, I go to check on Michonne. I find her sitting on the sofa, eating noodles from a cup, with her eyes fixed on the monitors. I smile. This would be such a nice, domestic moment if it weren't for the fact that we are now fugitives from the law. I continue to smile regardless of the predicament we find ourselves in. I smile because I'm here with her.

I step forward and she turns her head. She beams brightly at me and then speaks.

"Sleep well?" she asks. I walk over to her, press a kiss to the top of her head, and then flop down beside her, still naked as the day I was born.

"Like a baby," I reply. "Any movement?"

"None," she offers. "You want something to eat?"

"Nah, I'm okay," I say. "Did any messages come through?"

"Yeah," she replies. "Your contact will be here within the hour."

"Good," I say with a nod. "We should get ready to move again."

I get up from the sofa, and find my discarded clothing. After dressing, I go to the safe in the bedroom, and retrieve the two packages. I place them on the floor in the living room, next to our go-bags.

"Do you have everything?" I ask.

"Yes," Michonne replies. "We're good to go. Hey, I meant to ask, what's in the packages?"

"Our insurance policy," I reply, before kneeling down and opening one of the bags. It is filled with one hundred dollar bills. "This will get us across borders while we're armed."

"All of it?" she asks.

"Nah, just some of it," I reply. "More of it will help us start over; the rest I need just in case."

"In case of what?" she queries.

"In case my connections in Colombia won't give up my father."

"You think they won't?" she asks.

"Maybe," I say. "They've protected him this long. But I'm counting on them being businessmen and recognizing a business deal when they see one."

"So, you're going to pay them to give up his whereabouts?"

"Nah," I answer. "I'm gonna pay 'em to deliver him to me."


	35. Chapter 35

_Michonne's POV_

The motion of the car, coupled with morning sickness has left me feeling unsettled. We have crossed the border into Guatemala after driving for two days straight. I'm tired of being in this car, but I am making the journey go much more slowly with my sickness. We're actually close to the safe house on the outskirts of Tacaná, Rick has explained, but I've had to ask our escort to stop again. He stands by the car and smokes a cigarette as I make my way to the public restroom nearby. Rick waits with him, ensuring that the car and our belongings remain guarded.

After vomiting, I flush the toilet and then go to the sink. I splash my face with the cool water, and then look at myself in the smudged mirror. I am tired and I look it. I need for us to reach our destination so that I can rest; so that _we_ can rest. We're so close to where we need to be, but now some doubt creeps into my mind about what we need to do. I rub my hand over my abdomen, and let out a sigh. I know I have to speak to Rick before we continue on our way.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

I sent our driver to stock up on bottled water while I wait by the car. I know Michonne's been feeling sick along the road. I just want her to be comfortable until we get to where we're going, then she can rest. There ain't no rest for me, though. Not until I reunite with my father.

I lift my head when I see her in my peripheral. She looks slightly nauseated. She returns to the car and stands in front of me. I place my hands at her waist. She offers me a weak smile as I run the back of my hand over her forehead.

"How're you feelin' now?" I ask with concern.

"I've felt better," she replies. "How long before we can rest properly?"

"We should reach the other safe house in under an hour," I explain. "We'll stay the night, and then cross the border into Honduras at dawn."

"And then what?" she asks; I knit my brow.

"Then we keep going until I meet my contacts in Colombia," I explain.

"So you can find your father?"

"Yeah," I say. "That's the plan."

She sighs and I get the feeling she wants to say something.

"What is it?" I ask. "What's on your mind?"

"I don't want to sound like I'm doubting your plan," she starts. "But do you really think we should find your father? I mean, we're free, Rick. We've made it. Hell, we could even stay here in Guatemala. No one but the Bureau will be looking for us. They won't broadcast that they're searching for you or me because it would blow my cover. And if they think your people are holding me, they won't risk it; they won't put me in danger like that. We have time to get ever further away from the States and to start building our new lives together."

I narrow my eyes and contemplate her words. She's right, of course; she is always right. We've made it. We _can_ make it. We have the means to keep moving and start over, just like we've planned. We can do it without me going after Daddy Gene. But there's something deep inside of me that needs answers. I hope she can understand that; I thought she understood that. Maybe I was wrong.

"I hear what you're sayin'," I offer, while placing both hands to her upper arms. "And you're right. The smart thing would be to keep movin' and settle down. I don't know how smart I am. I do know _how_ I am. And there's just some part of me that isn't gonna be smart about this."

"Rick…"

"I understand what you're sayin', and I agree with you. I just need you to hear me out, can you do that?"

"I can," she replies.

"I know what people think of me. I know that you probably had to keep detailed records about me. Not just how much product I was shifting, or how much money I was makin', but how I acted. How I was; what I did. How I treated people. You took note of all o' that, didn't you?"

"I did," she admits. "That was my job. I had to build this profile of you so that when it came time to take you down, we had some kind of idea how you might respond."

"What was your profile?"

"Rick? Does it really matter now?"

"I just want you to understand where I'm comin' from."

"I do."

"Michonne," I say, rubbing her arms. "I don't know if you do, so please humor me."

"Okay," she concedes.

"The profile you built," I continue. "What did it say?"

"It was ex post facto," she offers. "We had surveillance, and some information from associates, but I had to give a retrospective profile on you."

"Right, so what did you say?"

"Caucasian male, mid-forties," she starts. "Crime syndicate boss. Previously in law enforcement."

"Okay, regular stats," I say. "What about the behavioral details? The traits you were trained to notice? What did you learn about me?"

"You were violent," she says in a matter-of-fact manner. "Homicidal. Paranoid. Cold and impersonal sex life. Borderline sociopathic, most likely due to frontal lobe damage when you were injured."

I feel my heart sink upon hearing her list all of these traits about me that I know were true. I don't want to be that person, not with her.

"Motivated by monetary gain."

"That one," I say. "That's the only thing that you're off the mark with."

"The one about doing what you do for money?"

"Yeah. Did you ever give it much thought about _why_ I do what I do? Why I took over my father's business?"

She shakes her head and then says, "We never really thought it was anything other than the money."

I nod my head before asking, "Did anyone make a retrospective profile based on me _before_ I chose this life?"

She shrugs her shoulders.

"Nothing official," she admits. "But I read your file enough to get an idea of who you _were_."

"And what did you come up with?"

"You're loyal," she says without hesitation. "You're protective of the people you care for. You're hardworking. Trustworthy. Community-minded. A family man."

"In a lot of ways, I am completely different now than I was," I offer. "I am violent. I am vengeful. I do kill people without even givin' it a second thought. But one thing that hasn't changed is me bein' a family man. The reason I stepped in and took over the business after Daddy Gene left is because of my family. Not the business family, but the family I lost. I know I don't talk about 'em much, and I don't know if I ever will, but losing my family all in that one night changed me. And I took over from my father so I had the means to get revenge; to get closure."

"You mean Blake?" she asks.

"Yes," I reply. "Killing Blake was the whole reason why I took my father's place. I knew I was changed; there was no point lying in my psych evaluation to get back on the force. That life was over for me. I needed to get to the criminal who killed my family by livin' that same life. My friends in law enforcement were tracking him, so I knew I'd get to watch him die sooner or later. You don't fuck with a cop's family, and you sure as hell don't fuck with a crime boss' family. His days were numbered. But ending him just raised more questions. I knew I'd probably never get to ask my father why he up and left after I was hurt. I could live with that. But what Blake said about Daddy Gene hurting my brother is a question I need an answer to. And the only way I'm gonna get that answer is if I stand face-to-face, man-to-man with my father. I need this closure."

"I get it," she replies, placing her hand to the side of my face. "I really do understand. I just want you to know I am so sorry for what you've been through."

I stare into her eyes, and the sincerity there warms my heart.

"Thank you," I whisper in response.

"I'm still with you, Rick," she says softly. "And I'll be with you when you ask your father the question. But I need you to promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"I need you to promise me that regardless of the answer he gives you, even if it raises more questions, that'll be the end of it," she says. "No more looking backwards, Rick; promise me that you'll only look to the future. To _our_ future."

I take hold of her hand, and press a soft kiss to her knuckles, before earnestly replying, "I promise."

* * *

A/N: This is me taking a breath before what is to come as the end of this story is near! I am so sad, but so keen for you all to see how it ends. Please let me know what you're thinking. Thank you for sticking with this.


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: Hello, Dear Readers. I had to split the chapter up, so this will be the first half of the finale. The second will follow shortly. Enjoy!

* * *

…..

 _Present time_

 _10.3910° N, 75.4794° W: Cartagena, Colombia_

 _Rick's POV_

Everything moves so fast so that it's all a blur but slows at the same time. I don't have time to process it, yet I feel like I'm watching it all unfurl.

 _I'm fucking angry._

I have never been this angry before. The rage is spiteful and cruel. It churns inside of me, threatening to spill out of me like vomit; like bile. It's repulsive. All of my searching and questioning has brought me to this very moment, and for the first time in a long time, I feel the bitter taste of resentment on my bloodstained lips.

The sound of the gunshot rings in my ears; I somehow hear the whir of the bullet. Adrenaline courses through my veins. There's a scream behind me. It's that woman. She cries out my name.

 _Rick? Rick!_

There's a resounding echo. It reverberates through my entire being. Her voice is familiar, but I don't register total recognition. It's as if I'm not even standing in the room; like I'm watching myself from a distance, overhead, or from behind a pillar. Another gunshot rings out and I look and see her standing there, and everything turns to red.

I see nothing _but_ red.

There's red, everywhere.

It's all a red, raging pain.

…..

 _Five hours ago_

 _Cartagena safe house_

Sweat drips from my naked body as I rock on top of her. It doesn't matter how many times we fuck, or make love, it's always so perfect with Michonne. I thrust my cock inside of her in a steady rhythm, stretching her open in that delicious way, and hitting her spot; just how she likes it. I need her to like it. To crave it. To take her mind off of her worry. Today could be the day that it all comes to an end. I know this; she knows this. We spend our time here fucking, before what comes next arrives.

 _There's not much time._

And I can feel the impending doom stirring all around us, but right now, as I drive myself into her, I feel lighter. As my skin burns from her touch; and my lips taste hers, I am taken away from the sterile safe house, and hurled into a swirl of carnal delights with her. A haze of beating hearts, and quaking, dripping parts; a gulf of heat and moisture. Softness and rigidness. Plunging deeper and harder and faster. _So hard._ Each stroke and thrust brings us closer to the peak. _Faster; faster._

"God, Rick," she breathes, her nails digging into the damp rind of my back. I like the way it cuts and stings. I always have. She digs so deep that she draws my blood from my searing flesh. This bloodletting is a sweet reprieve from all of my sins. It spurs me on, like a whisper in the dark. I fuck her harder; cause her to grip me tighter. As tight as her sweet, hot cunt that all but strangles my aching, throbbing cock.

xXxXx

 _Michonne's POV_

He lifts my ass from the mattress a moment and drills me harder. His eyes, wild and passionate, never leave mine as he fucks me into the bed. His grunting gives way to low moans when I tighten my walls around him. He bends down to capture my lips, never slowing his thrusts. We both need this. I need it to abate my fears; he needs it to focus. He is only ever this focussed when he is killing someone or fucking me. I would rather that he fuck me until I can't walk straight instead of him having to take someone's life in this dangerous, foreign place.

"Fuck," I cry out as the ridges and veins of his firm cock brush against the softness of my spot. My legs shake as he repeats the action. "Hmmm."

He brings his mouth to my neck and bites it before kissing there as he strikes my core again and again. Heat and pressure builds between my thighs and I am close to coming. He buries his face in my neck and continues his attentions. Soon thereafter, we both reach our climax. He shudders on top of me and fills me with his seed; my pulsing, gushing pussy milks him of his last drop.

…..

"So, you think because you fucked me good that I'd let you go it alone?" I ask, while he pulls his clothes on after cleaning himself up.

"Michonne," he supplies, almost in an exhausted tone.

"You thought giving me that good dick would keep me laid up in bed while you go and meet your contact alone?"

He looks at me and shakes his head.

"It's dangerous," he says, finally. "I just wanted us to be together in case –"

"God, don't say it, Rick," I plead.

"They're dangerous people," he offers. "I want you to be here safe and sound while you wait for me."

"I know what type of people your contacts are. If anything happened to you, I'd –"

"Never find my body?" he says, with half a smile.

I sigh loudly, not finding his morbid sense of humor entertaining at the present time.

"I get it that they're bad people—"

"That's exactly why I want you to stay here," he says

"We're in this together, Rick," I reply. "So, I'm going with you."

He sighs and then shakes his head; he knows there no use in debating with me.

"Besides, I can handle myself if shit hits the fan."

…..

 _Three Hours Ago_

Rick and I arrive at the impressive beachside home. We are searched and our weapons taken. Rick keeps his eyes on me as the young man pats me down. It is all above board, so I didn't have to worry about Rick wanting to hurt him for being inappropriate with me. Even when the odds are stacked against us, and we are out of our depth, he would still jump to action to ensure that no one would hurt or disrespect me. When the searches are done, he slings the duffel with the cash over his shoulder and takes hold of my hand. We are shown to a waiting room where we sit; we are left on our own.

"This is a nice place," I say, as I take in the colonial style architecture. "Old."

"Yeah," Rick replies. "Old money here, too."

"I'm not gonna ask any questions about that," I offer.

"Good," he answers. "The less you know about my suppliers, the better."

Silence pervades the small area as he and I wait. He seems outwardly calm; something I have grown used to by now. Even in the messiest of situations, Rick knows how to keep his cool. It's when he sees red that we have something to worry about.

I'm drawn from my thoughts by the opening of the door. A different young man steps inside and says something in hushed Spanish. Rick stands, and gestures for me to do the same. We are then led to another room. Once we enter, there is a middle-aged man sitting behind a desk. His dark hair is greying, and his skin is wrinkled from too much sun. He greets us with a crooked smile that doesn't reach his eyes, before telling us to take up a seat. He and Rick shake hands.

"We're sad to hear we won't be doing business with you anymore," says the man whose name I didn't catch. He did not introduce himself, and barely throws a glance in my direction.

"Me, too," Rick replies. "But once the heat dies down, and I can go home, I'm sure we can come to another arrangement."

"I really don't like to lose money like this," he says as he leans back in his chair.

"I know," he says. "But your livelihood could be in jeopardy if your customers are under scrutiny. That's why I brought you this. A sort of parting gift."

Rick nods toward the duffel, before he places it on the desktop and unzips it. The man peers inside. He seems pleased at the sight of the money. He removes a wad of bills and flicks through them.

"I'm certain this will help me get over our breakup," he replies, quite content. "Now, you want to know where your father is?"

"Yes, if you wouldn't mind," Rick replies.

He nods his head and says, "I don't mind at all."

He then goes to scribble something on a piece of paper and slides it to Rick.

"I won't tell him you're coming," he offers with another cold, emotionless smile.

"Appreciate it," Rick answers.

"Families are fucked up," he adds, before finally looking in my direction and saying, "The smallest things can come between them. Do what you need to do, Rick Grimes. Don't let sentimentality stop you."

"I won't," says Rick, as he takes hold of my hand.

"And pull the trigger, if you need to," he says somewhat jovially. "The best day of my life was when I shot my own father. I hope you find that type of satisfaction, too."

With that, we are dismissed, and I silently hope no one will be pulling any triggers today.

xXxXx

 _Rick's POV_

That meeting was disturbing. It seems like even my father's business acquaintances in these parts don't like him. Not to worry, he and I aren't exactly on good terms ourselves. As I stare down at the address on the crumpled piece of paper, memories of better times flood my mind. But I remember the advice I have just received: _Don't let sentimentality stop you._ I'm determined not to let it impede what I need to do. This confrontation is happening. No number of warped childhood memories of Daddy Gene will get in my way.

…..

 _Not Very Long Ago_

The trip was surprisingly quicker than I thought it would be. The vehicle we were loaned was equipped to take us off the sealed roads, and the GPS leads us right to the gates of the place my father has been living in for the past five years. We are not so far from the civic areas, but we are still in the jungle. Trees line the roads, and there is no phone service. No one knows we are here, except an international arms dealer; if this goes sideways, it'll be like we fell off the face of the earth.

We pull up at the entrance, and I roll the window down before pressing the intercom button that had seen better days. There is a crackling static sound, but then an answer. It's a woman greeting us in Spanish. I ask for my father, and she asks who is calling.

"Tell him it's his son from Georgia," I say. "Tell him it's Rick."

…..

The house is too big for one person, I think, as a woman in her mid-to-late-fifties leads us into the main foyer. At least at the Farm, there were always people around. Here, it's quiet and isolated. My father doesn't seem to have too many staff working for him. The garden looks good, so there's most likely a groundsman, maybe a cook and a maid. He was never one for looking after himself in that way; always liked to throw money around to get other people to do his dirty work.

We are advised to take a seat and wait for him. I don't know why he insists on making such a grand entrance; actually, he's a narcissist, so of course he would. I place my hand on Michonne's knee as we wait. Soon, I hear footfalls approaching, so I stand. Not knowing what to expect when I see him. It's been five years. A sense of dread settles into the pit of my stomach; a dread that I push farther down so that it doesn't hint on my features.

"Hello there, son," he says, as he comes closer.

He is dressed in a shirt and shorts. His hair is longer than I have ever seen it, and he looks like he's aged well. His gaze shifts from me to Michonne, as he closes the distance between us and extends his hand. Hesitantly, I take it, and say, "Daddy Gene. It's been a while."

He claps a hand to my shoulder, as if he hadn't abandoned me when I was at my lowest, and replies, "Yeah, son; I guess it has been a while."

"That's all you've gotta say?" I ask, disbelieving that he is being so blasé about this whole reunion of ours.

"Well, what'd you want me to say?" he asks. "You show up here unannounced after all these years, even though I know you've had the means to find me sooner –"

"We need to talk," I cut in. "Now."

"Ain't you gonna introduce me to your lady friend, first?"

"No," I reply. "First we talk, and then I decide if we're gonna play nice."

"Alright then," he says, while clapping his hands together. He then calls out to the woman who showed us in. "Cecile, get my nameless guest here somethin' to drink while I have a little chit chat with this son of mine."

xXxXx

 _Presently_

 _Michonne's POV_

I don't like the idea of us being separated. Rick and his father retreat to one of the back rooms while I am led to a patio area encircled by a low fence. I have a view of the house, and the front yard, and that's about it. I don't have the best vantage point should something go wrong. The woman serves me with a cold drink. I accept it, but don't partake. Instead, I observe the surrounding outdoors area. There are two closed-circuit cameras perched at each corner of the building near the roof. I make note to deactivate them if things go south.

The only way in from the front is the way that we came. I'm unsure of what is around the back of the house. There are two cars in the driveway: The one we rode up in, and another that most likely belongs to Rick's father. I notice that Cecile, the housekeeper, is carrying a holstered weapon just under her blouse. If there are any other people here, I have yet to see them.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"Will Emm be okay out there with your people?" I ask, as my father nods his head and gestures for me to take a seat in his office.

I remove the gun from the small of my back, and then place it on his desktop; he eyes it a moment, but then pays it no more mind. This office looks nothing like his study back home, which was full of hard wood, old photos, and the scent of cigars and whiskey. This room still smells of cigars, but no picture frames adorn the pale colored walls. This room is open and light, much like the rest of the house. It's a far cry from the Farm I grew up on. Retirement suits him, in a way. Even though his new home is relaxed, and so is his choice of clothing, there's still something very stern in his eyes; something ominous. He's always had that expression, I suppose. The cold stare that I knew held no affection or warmth; the cold stare that confirms that Daddy Gene is heartless. He cares for nothing and no one.

"I need to hear you say it."

"Say what?"

"That she'll be safe out there without me."

"Yes," says Daddy Gene. "Your lady friend will be safe. Now, you gonna tell me what in the hell you're both doin' here?"

He lifts the lid from his whiskey decanter, and pours the liquid into a glass for himself, and then into another for me. He slides it across the table in the same way I've seen him do a hundred times before; the same way that I have come to mirror.

"I found Blake."

"Philip Blake?" he asks, before taking a sip.

"Yes."

"You kill him?"

"I did," I reply as I down my drink.

"What'd he have to say for himself?" my father asks, as he fills his glass once more. "Any interesting shit?"

"He had some _very_ interesting shit to say, actually."

"Such as?"

"That you paid him to kill Jeffrey."

Daddy Gene looks down at my gun, then back at my eyes; he finishes his drink and then places the empty glass down on the desk.

"Well, that sure is interesting," he replies, as he leans back and folds his arms over his front before tilting his head to the side.

"I'm only gonna ask you this once," I offer as I lean forward and pick up my pistol. "Did you have my brother killed?"

He stares into my eyes, not blinking, and narrows his before asking, "If I told you that I did, are you gonna shoot me?"

I cock the hammer on my weapon, and then tilt _my_ head to the side.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Don't fuckin' test me right now," I spit. "Why did you have Jeff killed?"

"Don't shoot me in here," he replies, as he lifts both hands. "Don't do it here where my family will find me."

"Your family?" I ask, narrowing my eyes; I can feel the rage clawing all over me. "What fuckin' family? You had my brother murdered. You left me for dead. You don't _have_ a family."

"The family I have here," he says, some of his resolve cracking.

"So, you went ahead and dragged other people into your shit storm of a life?" I ask. "Do they know who you are and what you are? What you did to your other family?"

"I did what I did _for_ them!" he says.

"What does that even mean?" I ask, as I raise the gun.

"Take me outside and I'll tell you," he says. "I don't want you doin' it in here where they can find me."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I hear the engine of a car. I glance to the driveway and see a small Jeep come to a halt. I notice a woman and a small child get out of the car and make their way inside of the house. Something doesn't feel right. I stand and head for the door. Soon, the housekeeper is standing in front of me with her weapon drawn and pointed at me.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"Get your ass up," I order; my father does as he's told.

He slowly steps from behind his desk with his hands raised. He moves toward the door when suddenly, a woman's voice calls out to him.

"Gene?" she says, her voice muffled through the closed door.

"Don't answer," I warn him.

"Gene? You in there? There's a car out front," she says. "Whose is it?"

I shake my head in his direction and he whispers, "She ain't gonna leave."

"Tell her everything's okay," I say.

"Listen, darlin'," he starts. "I got some business to take care of. Why don't you take the baby and head on back into town until I'm done?"

"Gene?" she says again.

"Go on, now," he says.

Then, in the blink of an eye, I hear the doorknob turn as the door swings open. Before I can do anything to cover them both, Daddy Gene swings his fist and connects with my jaw. I grab him as we both fall to the floor.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

She cocks the hammer and steps closer to me. I slowly begin to raise my hands before saying, "Escucha, habrá problemas. Toma a la mujer y al niño y vete ahora mismo."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

He lands another punch as he falls on top of me. I use my forearm to press against his throat, causing him to grow lightheaded enough so that I can force him from off of me. I roll him to his back and then land a few punches of my own. Blood spurts from his nose as my gloved fist connects with it. I put all of my weight on him to keep him down. I don't even pay attention to the screaming woman who has entered the room. After my father is dazed from the beating, I stay straddling him as I reach for the discarded pistol. Once it's in my grasp, I stand and point it at him.

"Get the fuck up!" I say, not taking my eyes off of him. "You're coming with me."

Everything moves so fast so that it's all a blur but slows at the same time. I don't have time to process it, yet I feel like I'm watching it all unfurl.

 _I'm fucking angry._

I have never been this angry before. The rage is spiteful and cruel. It churns inside of me, threatening to spill out of me like vomit; like bile. It's repulsive. All of my searching and questioning has brought me to this very moment, and for the first time in a long time, I feel the bitter taste of resentment on my bloodstained lips.

Just then, as my father spits out his own blood and stares up at me, I hear the sound of the gunshot ringing in my ears; I somehow hear the whir of the bullet. Adrenaline courses through my veins. There's a scream behind me. It's that woman. She cries out my name.

 _"Rick? Rick!"_

There's a resounding echo. It reverberates through my entire being. Her voice is familiar, but I don't register total recognition. It's as if I'm not even standing in the room; like I'm watching myself from a distance, overhead, or from behind a pillar. Another gunshot rings out and I look and see her standing there, and everything turns to red.

I see nothing _but_ red.

There's red, everywhere.

It's all a red, raging pain.

"Rick, stop!" she pleads, as she aims the small revolver in my direction; her hands are as shaky as her voice.

I squint my eyes through the haze of red and then say, "Lori?"

…..

"Please, Rick, put the gun down," she says.

I glance from my father, to my wife as a sharp pain spreads through my entire being.

"What – what the hell is goin' on here?" I say, as I try to process what is happening in that moment.

"Put the gun down," she says.

"Someone answer me right the fuck now," I say, with my voice low and laced with venom. "What the fuck is happening?"

Lori cocks the hammer of her revolver and steps closer to us.

"Please don't make me shoot you, Rick," she pleads. "Drop the –"

Before she can finish her sentence, she falls to the floor as Michonne strikes her from behind.

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

I finish tying Gene Grimes to a chair as Rick paces back and forth with his pistol in his bloodied hand. His wife –

Okay, I need a moment because this is _too_ fucked up.

His wife, Lori, is still passed out. We've placed her on the sofa. I step away from Gene, and then go to Rick. There's something about his stare that is cold and unhinged. He's processing everything and he is scaring me.

"Rick," I say gently, as I step closer to him. "Let me see."

He stops and I take hold of his hand; I remove the glove to get a better look. It is busted from when he was punching his father. He stares off at the wall as I examine his injuries; the hand is not broken, just torn.

"What's going on here?" I whisper.

"I'm waitin' for her to wake up so I can ask 'em," he replies.

I let go of his hand, and then spy a vase sitting on a small table. I remove the flowers, tossing them to the floor, and then approach the woman on the sofa. I pour the water from the vase over her face. She wakes with a start, looking confused and frightened. I stare down at her and say, "You've got some explaining to do."

…..

 _Rick's POV_

Have you ever watched one of those documentaries about serial killers where they talk about their crimes? The assholes sit there, obviously happy with their exploits and gettin' stiff from telling their stories. There's this coldness in their eyes, and the only glint of emotion is from the fact that they loved what they did; that they would do it again. My father is no serial killer, but he has the same look in his eyes as he tells me, without emotion, what happened to my brother.

"Jeff was a liability," he says. "He was hooked on that shit. Couldn't have him around the business."

"That's a weak excuse," I say, pointing my gun at him again. "Tell me the whole truth. Like why the fuck is Lori here?"

"We fell in love, Rick," she interjects. I can't even look at her through the red haze.

"You pair of cock suckers don't know what love is," I say, keeping my eyes on my father. "So, my brother had to die to cover your lying asses, is that it?"

"Yeah," says Gene coldly. "That's it. He needed a fix, and I wouldn't give him the money, so he threatened to tell you about us. I couldn't have you findin' out like that –"

"So you had him killed, and had me believe my wife and baby were dead? What the fuck is wrong with you people?"

Then, it hits me – Judith.

"Where is she?" I ask as the throbbing in my head intensifies. "Where's my daughter?"

"She's…"

"Come on, son," says Gene. "Don't you get it by now? Judith, she ain't your daughter. She's your sister."

…..

 _Michonne's POV_

This whole situation is fucked up. I stand back, with a gun in my hand, and listen to these people who lied to, and betrayed Rick for so long. My hand is shaking, I'm so pissed off right now. If he doesn't kill them, I think I will.

…..

 _Rick's POV_

"What?" I say, as I pinch the bridge of my nose.

"Judith isn't yours," says Lori.

"So, let me get this straight; it was better to lie to me, and make me think I lost you both than to be a woman about it and tell me the fuckin' truth!" my voices booms loudly as I step toward her. "Is that what you're tellin' me right now?"

Lori flinches in her seat. I don't even care that she appears to be afraid of me. I don't care about either of them anymore.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"You," I say while lifting the gun to gesture to her. "You're a cunt."

"Hey!" says my father as he struggles from his bonds.

"Shut the fuck up!" I spit as I turn my attention to him. "You sleazy motherfucker. You're lucky I don't splatter your brains all over her right now."

"Rick, please," she begs. "We're sorry. It was selfish of us."

"He isn't sorry," I say. "This all worked out for him: He got what he wanted, and got rid of his sons along the way. See you, Lori; you've always been a selfish fuckin' bitch. And he's always been a heartless prick. I'm not even surprised, come to think of it, that both of you pieces of shit screwed me over. You can't help it; it's who you are."

"I wanted to just leave," she says. "I didn't plan any of this."

"I thought you were dead!" I shout. "I mourned you. I mourned the both of you."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I say as I stare into her pleading eyes. "You've been dead for five years. You're as good as dead to me now, you and him. I want nothin' to do with you. I have a new life now. The pair of you deserve each other."

I turn away from her and then keep walking; Michonne follows behind me. As we get closer to the door, my father calls out, "Hey! Don't you walk away from me."

I don't stop.

"You really think I ain't been keepin' tabs on you, boy?" he asks snidely.

I keep walking.

"You think I don't know that you've shacked up with that FBI woman?"

I stop in my tracks.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me!"

"Nah," I reply, as I slowly turn my body to face him. "You gonna have to say it again."

"That woman you're shacked up with. She's a Fed," he says. "I've known for a while now. Was just waiting for the right time to – "

"To do what?"

"To put her down like the bitch she is."

I cock the hammer, walk right up to him, and ask, "Who else knows?"

"What?"

"Who else knows about her? Does Lori know?

"No one," he replies. "Just me."

I turn my head to Lori and say, "Do you know what he's talkin' about?"

"No, please Rick, I don't know. I promise. I don't know anything."

"She doesn't know abou –"

 _BANG_

The shot rings out louder than I thought it would. The bullet pierces his skull right between his eyes. I don't even blink. The ringing in my ears drowns out Lori's screams as I watch my father's lifeless body slump sideways. The blood from the single head wound trickles down his face. The pistol feels heavy and hot in my hand as my arm falls to the side. I walk towards Lori, and she tries to crawl away from me. I grab her by the shoulder and shake her until she is looking into my bloodshot eyes.

"Hey! Hey, listen!" I say, making sure I have her full attention. "You say one fuckin' word about me bein' here, about any of this, and I'll come back and put a bullet in your head, too. You understand me?"

"I – "

"Do you fuckin' understand?"

"Yes," she says through her sobs. "I – I understand."

"Pack your shit and leave this place," I order. "Don't ever come back. If I ever see you again, I'm gonna kill you."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry Rick. I'll go. Rick, I promise."

"Shut the fuck up! You don't get to speak my name ever again," I spit. "If anyone finds out I was here, you're dead, Lori. You're fuckin' dead."

I shove her backwards onto the sofa, and then turn. I place the gun back in the holster and then go to Michonne. I take hold of her hand and walk away. Lori's cries grow softer and quieter. I don't look back.

xXxXx

 _Michonne's POV_

We've been driving for a couple of hours. Rick says nothing; I say nothing. He keeps his eyes trained on the road ahead; he keeps his bloodied, gloved hands on the wheel. The safe house is close, and we remain quiet. I can't get a good read on him. Today has been too much. I hope his psyche is not too damaged from what he's learned and what he's done. My heart is heavy for him. I just want to hold him. As we pull up to the front of the safe house, I turn to look at him. He brings the car to a halt, and then faces me.

"You okay?" he asks, concerned about the wary expression I am wearing.

"Yeah," I reply. "I'm okay."

He nods his head and says, "Good. I'm okay, too."

We share a fleeting smile, then a chaste kiss, and then shift to exit the vehicle. Once inside, Rick goes to wash up, and I turn on the TV after I sit on the bed. I flick the channels until the local news broadcast is on the screen; I hear water running down the drain. The main report is about some boat that was shipwrecked just off the coast of Cartagena. Underneath the footage are headlines and breaking news. One headline catches my eye: American émigré murdered execution-style in rural hideaway.

Rick emerges from the bathroom with no shirt on. He takes a seat on the bed just as the news report changes. The scene is outside of the home of Gene Grimes. Police and paramedics are shown entering the house behind the reporter.

"What're they sayin'?" asks Rick, his Spanish not as fluent as mine.

"It was called in by an anonymous tip," I explain. "Apparently, the house was empty when authorities arrived."

"Any suspects?"

"No, none," I explain. "Seems as if they're saying it was a hit. Look."

I say, gesturing to the TV once more. On the screen is a picture of Gene Grimes with his actual name underneath instead of his alias.

"They're saying he's been identified," I offer, feeling dread rising up inside of me. "They know he's wanted by the FBI."

"What else?"

I turn to look at Rick, and then say, "They're handing the case over to American law enforcement. They'll be taking over the investigation by tomorrow."

"Shit," says Rick.

"What do we do?"

" _You_ sit tight and hope they don't find Lori before I do."

* * *

A/N: Part 2 of the finale coming soon!


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